


one second

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Clairvoyance, Cute, Eventual Smut, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Meet-Cute, Shower Sex, Smut, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers, Summer, Swimming Pools, Travel, is there an opposite of slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 41,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: When you spend your life getting glimpses of a myriad of possible futures every time you get a little emotional, you tend to lose sight of reality, of the present; a bad day turns into a bad week because all you see are the worst-case futures. You get a little excited about something, things start to go your way, but then all you can see are the realities where things are evenbetter. Life tends not to measure up.Or the one where Dan meets Phil on a plane, and maybe reality starts to become better than even Dan could predict.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just a single word, and it hardly means anything anyway. I mean, it _shouldn’t_ mean anything. He’s probably said it a thousand times to a thousand other people. A thousand other people who aren’t me. 

_But what if it does mean something? What if…?_ What ifs cycle through my brain like I’ve just died and my life is flashing before my eyes - snippets of moments, of possibilities, of realities that might be or could be or _damn_ _I would love if they were:_

A hand carding through my hair, sending tingles across my scalp and down my spine. 

A slow, soft smile - really, just the slightest curl in the corner of his mouth - as he leans his forehead against mine. We’ve been kissing, I think, because my lips feel puffy and my head feels light. My heart feels light.

Laughter bubbling up in my chest, echoing across the room, because of something he said - I’ve no idea what, but it’s there, and it’s the happiest I’ve ever felt and I’m not even really _feeling_ it. It’s not real, it’s just in my head. Just a brief moment.

Warmth surrounding me, though it’s pitch black and I can’t see a thing. In spite of it, though, there’s a sense of comfort deep down in my bones, and a brush of breath at the back of my neck - it’s not creepy, or weird, or frightening. It’s reassuring. He’s there, holding me, maybe we’re just drifting off to sleep. Maybe we’re about to wake up. It doesn’t really matter.

A hand - mine, it seems - cupping his cheek. He’s leaned into it, resting against it. Resting against me. Unexpectedly, _I’m_ the one supporting _him._ I’ve never fancied myself a pillar of strength, a source for someone else’s comfort, but I see it. It’s something that could be. For him, it’s someone could be. Someone I want to be.

A sniffle, just barely audible - coming from me, I think. My hands twined with his. Tears blur my vision, and I wonder why I’d be crying, because my chest feels too light, I feel like I’m fucking _glowing_ , radiating energy and happiness and utter fulfillment. For once, I’m not left wanting. I have everything I could ever ask for.

Pressure on my chest, now, heavy and warm, but not suffocating. Somehow, this pressure is never suffocating. I know this weight, I know this feeling, it’s becoming familiar even though I’ve never felt it before. 

Rapid heartbeats - twice in the span of the moment, just before my lips reach his. 

Breaths being held as we hold each other, as long as I can manage, as if it could freeze everything around us. Even like this, curled together and amazingly content, I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to move on to the next breath, because what if it’s not as good as this one? But surety has locked in my chest as easily as his eyes - blue, so blue, oceans of blue - have locked with mine: _no, the next breath will come, and it will be amazing because it is with you._

His voice in my ear, and _fuck_ it’s such a turn on. Somehow, I’ve heard it a hundred times, low and husky and just like that, but even the hundred and first time, it’s easily the most erotic thing on the planet. _He_ is. Warmth has blossomed from my cheek and across my face, down my neck and chest, until I’m nothing but fire. Until I’m consumed by it, by him. I ache for his fire to consume me.

Rough, my head slamming back into the wall, a singular throbbing pain that doesn’t even begin to matter, because there are more important things to focus on: his hands gripping my wrists, my arms raised over my head, his hips pinning mine, the smirk on his face that I recognize and that my mind and my heart and my body fall completely apart for.

Gentle, the barest brush of a hand - we’re on the street, not that I can be bothered to care, because it’s a gesture that centers my focus, centers my entire world. There’s nothing aside from that bit of contact, that reminder, that source of comfort that he’s there, that we’re everything to each other - everything, and yet he’s only said a single word to me.

All at once, these flashes hit, like a slice of a thousand lives I’ve never lived but have been a part of me since the beginning. It’s cliche, it’s sappy, it’s sexy and strange and inexplicable and terrifying. And I want every single one of those moments, every single touch and look and kiss and sensation. Whatever it is we have - _could_ have - I’m suddenly dying for it. 

“Uh, hello,” I finally manage to respond, aloud, because now my voice is working properly. His face breaks into the most brilliant grin I’ve ever seen, that I’ve seen a thousand times in a thousand ways and want to see in a _million_ more. “I’m, uh, Dan,” I stick a hand out, because what else do you do when you’ve just met the person who’s flipped your life on its head in the span of a single second?


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a beat of hesitation, and I’m suddenly sure I’ve done something wrong; heat flushes my face before I have the chance to stop it. But then he’s reaching out, and his hand fits in mine like a fucking puzzle piece - it’s cold, though, and a little clammy. Or maybe that’s my hand.

“Phil,” he’s still grinning at me, and I try to breathe, to focus on anything aside from the lingering remnants of the moments still flashing behind my eyes. _Pink lips, pale skin, wide blue eyes,_ I begin to list what I can see, what’s real and in front of me right now. _Straight black hair, pushed up over his forehead. Simple glasses framing his eyes. Still, that bright smile._ It’s not til I’ve gone through all these that I realize I haven’t let go of his hand.

In a rush, I clear my throat and pull my hand away, settling back into my seat beside the window - really, I’d been hoping for an aisle seat, space to stretch my legs out a bit, but no such luck. It seems the guy - _Phil_ \- is in the same boat. Although he’s got it worse, stuck in the middle. London to Orlando is a _very_ long flight.

“Ugh,” he groans beside me, and I try to pretend I hadn’t been watching him from the corner of my eye. His knees press right up against the seat in front of him, much like mine, and I turn to fully face him, to give him a sardonic smirk that I hope says ‘ _me too, mate_ ’. I don’t expect much in return, but he chuckles out a laugh, then makes an exaggerated attempt to stretch his legs out, stealing the space in front of the empty aisle seat beside him.

We both glance up when a lady clears her throat, brows quirked up and clearly not pleased about the legroom Phil’s jokingly taken. Her lips part, I assume to snark out some rude remark, but before she gets a word in, Phil’s jerking his legs back; his knee bumps into my thigh.

And it shouldn’t be a moment. I shouldn’t want to obsess over the accidental touch. I shouldn’t even _care_ , but I do. The magnitude of every second amplifies, blows itself up to some impossible greatness, because what if _this_ is the moment? The exact moment where everything turns, everything aligns itself down one of the amazing paths I’d just seen a minute ago?

 _What if it’s the opposite, though?_ I grimace, because it’s just like me to take a happy moment and turn it sour. _What if this is the moment where everything goes wrong, and you lose any chance at those infinite wonderful possibilities?_

“Sorry!” Phil’s hushed whisper pulls me back to the present, stops the spiral of worst-case-everything that my mind was ready to pull me into. He’s leaned close, clearly doing his best to avoid rude-aisle-seat-lady, but he’s no longer brushing against me. I realize belatedly that he must be misinterpreting my frown.

“No! No, it’s fine,” I twist my lips up into a smile. “Don’t even worry about it.” _That’s better._ His scrunched brows smooth out, and his mouth mirrors my own, turning up into a small grin. “Besides, us gangly giants have to stick together, right?” I wish, the moment I say it, that I really hadn’t. But it’s out in the air, and all I can think is how _stupid_ I sound, and how I’ve just gone and ensured that all those wonderful memories-that-aren’t-memories-yet will never happen.

But Phil snorts out a laugh, then clamps a hand over his mouth. Just above his fingers, his eyes have gone deer-in-headlights wide, and he peeks over his shoulder at the woman - she’s apparently already set to ignore us, a neck pillow propping her head up as she dozes off. _Damn, I hope I can get to sleep that easily…_

“So,” Phil turns back to me, and my heart jumps in my chest. “Off for a trip, then?” _Oh my god, he actually wants to talk to me?_ There’s a quick flash of moments that I don’t have the mental capacity to register, because all I can think about is how cute his northern accent is - it’s the first time he’s said enough aloud that I can place it.

“Uh, sort of,” I shrug. “A distant cousin’s wedding, actually.” Because why the hell not tell him? Hell, I think I’d tell him the password to my tumblr account if he asked for it. _Would I?_ There’s a flash of uncertainty, but then he’s talking and it disappears faster than it came.

“Oh, a wedding, I’m sure that’ll be fun!” His head tilts to the side, and I wonder if he’s remembering something. _Oh god,_ he’s _not married, is he?_ As casually as I can manage, I glance down to where his left hand grips the tiny armrest between us. _No ring._ Relief - a stupid, hopeful kind - seeps into my muscles, and I exhale.

“What about-” I’m about to ask about him, because that’s the polite thing to do and also because I’m curious, insatiably curious about this random guy. Who I could apparently have amazing, _amazing_ things with. But the intercom interrupts, and we both glance over to where one of the flight attendants is demonstrating all the safety procedures. I swallow down my disappointment. _He’ll probably want to sleep once we get to taking off…_

He doesn’t _look_ tired, though - granted, it’s barely four in the afternoon, but we won’t be landing til after one in the morning, though it’ll only be early evening in Florida. As the flight attendant continues her demonstration, I watch Phil: he’s paying rapt attention, looking as genuinely interested as if he were watching a fireworks display or a really great movie. 

He’s even shifted to fully turn toward the aisle, much to my disappointment - nothing like body language to indicate when a conversation’s over. I think the person on the intercom is listing the weather conditions in Orlando, but I’m already messing with my headphones, getting ready to drown out the rest of the world and try to forget this guy who’s likely already forgotten me.

Besides, it’ll be hot, humid, and rainy. I don’t need a rundown of just _how_ uncomfortable I’ll be.

“Anyway!” Phil whirls back around to me just as I’m sticking a headphone in my ear, but I inhale at his voice. “Oh! Sorry, I should let you, uh-”

“No, no, I want to- uh, I would, I mean, you were saying what you were traveling for?” I scramble, dropping my headphones into my lap and forcing the brightest grin I can manage. _Please don’t stop talking!_ My smile stays easily enough, though, when he returns a soft one.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nothing fun. Well, it sort of is?” He scrunches his brows, then he shifts in his seat so his legs are pointed toward mine and he’s fully facing me. “Well I’m _technically_ going for business, but that’s not til Monday, I took today and tomorrow off to have a proper break, maybe go to a beach or something?” Now his eyes have drifted up, like he’s still unsure.

“Not the parks?” I fill the silence he left open, feeling so stupidly at ease with him that I can’t even be bothered to worry I’m prying, or being rude. Sometimes, the ability to see a whole bunch of possible futures can really get in the way of my social skills. And my grip on reality.

“Well, I thought about it, but it’s so _hot_ and it’s the middle of the summer, it’ll be so crowded, I just didn’t think-”

“Right,” I nod, because I’d had the same thought - a beach, that’s manageable, even if it’s crowded. “The lines are probably atrocious right now.” He doesn’t even look annoyed at my interruption, just beams at me.

“You read my mind! So I guess it’s a bit of pleasure and a bit of business?” He tilts his head, looking up again - which is fortunate, because my cheeks have definitely blushed bright red at the mention of ‘ _pleasure_ ’. For a second, I’m overwhelmed, indescribable sensations sending tingles across my skin and a shiver up my spine, then it’s all gone. _Fuck._ I exhale a shaky breath.

“That’s, uh, yeah,” I manage, all eloquence flying out the window. He finally drops his gaze back to me, and I’m feeling all those things all at once.

“So a family wedding, huh? Do you expect it’ll be fun? I’ve honestly never a fan of going to those, my parents always bug me about when I’m going to find someone and finally settle down.” His ensuing grimace makes my chest deflate - _so he’s single, clearly, but he has no interest in dating…_

“Hah, yeah, same here,” I offer a halfhearted chuckle, a halfhearted smile, and try not to give away how disappointed I am. _I should’ve known, life never lives up to the stupid hype from those visions._ “Uh, business?” I try to latch onto something, _anything_ to keep this conversation from dying. To keep my hopes from dying with it. “What do you do?”

There’s a jolt as soon as I ask, then a low rumbling that says we’re finally moving - _and only fifteen minutes late_ , I frown as I check my phone.

“Ugh, we’re in for a long flight, I _hate_ long flights,” Phil mumbles, and I wonder if he hadn’t heard my question. I offer some kind of noncommittal sound - I don’t _hate_ long flights, mostly just the ones where I’m expected to rest. There’s absolutely _nothing_ about a stiff, tiny, barely-cushioned plane seat that’s conducive to sleeping.

“Actually, Dan, would you mind opening the window?” He looks back at me, points at the window. I’d pulled the shade down the moment I arrived, thinking it’d be easier to fall asleep without the extra light. I don’t even hesitate to pull it up now. “Thanks,” he grins, looking past me to watch the runway rush past, then disappear below us. “I like to watch.”

It takes every ounce of willpower in my body not to watch _him_. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is why i haven't been on tumblr all day (*cough* supposed to be working but... *cough*)
> 
> anyway. enjoy!

“You can close it, if you want to sleep or whatever,” Phil says once we’re higher up, drifting into the foggy grey clouds above London. I finally break away from my intense staring session - the object of my focus being the disappearing city below - to turn and find he’s sat back into his seat. _Oh, right, surely he wants to sleep now as well._

“Sure,” I answer, even though it wasn’t a question, pulling the shade down on autopilot. I feel like I’m being torn in half - a part of me wants to lean over, rest my head on his shoulder, feel his arm wrap around me, because that’s a future that exists in some way. It’s a comfort, a feeling that exists already. But the other part, the rational, logical, _practical_ part says that this isn’t that future, this is the present, this is _reality_ and I have to cope with all the unsatisfying endings. 

But I don’t put in my headphones, just in case.

“Did you, uh, actually want to hear about my job or was that just polite conversation?” I almost flinch when Phil’s voice reaches my ears because it’s so damn _close_. I turn slowly, so I don’t end up in any number of very compromising positions by putting our lips a few inches apart.

“Oh, yeah, I really did,” I assure him. _Tell me everything about you, everything I can’t possibly know already. Hell, tell me everything I_ already _know, just don’t ever stop talking._ My own monologue runs in the background of my head for a few seconds before I let Phil’s voice fully take over.

And he does talk, for a while, about his role as a manager for a few different radio personalities and how this trip is meant to be a ‘team building’ retreat.

“Honestly, though, I know it’ll be a whole bunch of socializing and they’ll expect me to join them at clubs and stuff, but…” he trails off, lips twisting. “It’s just not really my scene.” Then he shrugs off the disappointment, or frustration, or whatever’s got his brows scrunched together, as if it’s that easy to let go of things when the world doesn’t work out the way you want. _Maybe it is, if you’re not constantly plagued with visions of how great it could possibly be._

“But enough about me, I’ve just sat and blabbered on for ages, what do you do?” His eyes light up as he asks, and he shifts so he’s resting his elbows on the armrest between us. And just like that, all my unrealistic comfort around him dries up.

“Oh! I, uh,” _don’t do anything? I’m a loser with no real career? I quit my only source of income two weeks ago because I couldn’t handle another day of ‘yes sir, here’s your order, sir’ without going absolutely insane?_ “I’m actually between jobs right now,” I settle on the answer, not a lie but not honest either. I don’t even - _technically_ \- know the guy, and guilt at lying still swirls in my stomach.

“That’s cool! Do you have anything specific you’re looking for right now or just taking a break for a bit?” He smooths right over my implied ‘ _I’m a loser_ ’ and somehow manages to ask a question I can’t find any fault with - no judgment, no pressure, none of the usual shit I would get from my family for being unemployed. _Oh god, my family_ \- I’ve very carefully avoided the topic of work around them since I quit. I’m not sure I can avoid it all weekend.

“Uh, I mean,” _ah, hell, why not?_ “I’d really like the opportunity to work with mental health organizations. Not as a therapist or anything!” I add, because I would guess that’d be the assumption, not that I ever talk about my actual interests. “I don’t think I could handle that, but I guess I just want to make a difference? Do something meaningful with my life?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, as soon as Phil’s head tilts, I realize my unintentional implication. “Not that, uh, other jobs _aren’t_ meaningful! It’s just-”

“That’s really admirable, Dan,” Phil just breezes past my attempted explanation, mouth curling up into a soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for soon.” _Oh fuck, I may have already found it…_ I let my gaze hang on his lips for just a second too long, and there’s a flash of a feeling of those lips on mine, of heat and heavy breaths and a hand tugging at my hair, and then it’s dissolved into the dry, cold atmosphere of the plane cabin and all I’m left with is a tug in my stomach and a warm flush on my cheeks.

“Uh, th-thanks,” I stutter out, because he’s said something really nice and I should be responding instead of living out one of these infinite possibilities inside my head. _Live in the present, for fuck’s sake._ But that’s really damn hard to do when the object of those futures is sitting right beside me and _not_ doing any of the wonderful things he’d done in those visions in my head.

Those visions - an overactive imagination, I’d been told when I was younger. And had believed, because what else could it be? But once in a blue moon, one of those visions would come true. And not just in the ‘ _I was right, the fettucine alfredo was really good!_ ’ kind of way, but the way where I could describe before even eating it exactly how it would taste, how it would be just the right amount of al dente, how I’d finish the meal even though I’d be full three-quarters of the way through. Feelings and sensations too specific and accurate to be the product of imagination.

And sometimes _far_ too unrealistic for my brain to come up with on its own. _No, something like what I felt about Phil, there’s no way I made that up myself._ I wouldn’t even dare to _dream_ about finding someone who made me feel like I’d felt in those flashes of all those possible futures.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Phil’s voice pulls me out of my head again - _jesus, focus on the present!_ \- and I find him wiggling a book and smirking at me. “I’m quite enjoying talking to you, but I _just_ got to the best part, and it’ll drive me crazy if I don’t finish soon!” He waits, though, actually _waits_ , like if I’d said ‘ _no, keep talking_ ’, he’d have set the book down and chatted a while longer.

“Oh, right, sure,” I offer a small chuckle, a halfhearted smile. Then I’m the one waiting, in case he changes his mind. But he doesn’t, just flips the book open to a dog-eared page and bows his head to read. A tiny, hopeful Dan riots in the back of my head, begging me to push the conversation, to ask more, to get to know him better. I stick my headphones in my ears to shut him up. 

After a few minutes of shuffling through different songs, I settle on the playlist that usually keeps me grounded enough in the present to prevent any unwarranted or unwelcome flashes of the future. Then I shift for at least two minutes in the seat, doing my best to get comfortable, before I give up and lean back against the headrest. A moment later, my eyes are shut, trying to block out everything aside from the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't expect me to be uploading this frequently cause like idk if i can do that


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi this is going through a lot less rigorous editing than i would normally put it through so if you see any _glaringly_ obvious typos or grammatical errors please don't be afraid to let me know via comment or [message me on tumblr](https://www.knlalla.tumblr.com/) (or send an anon ask) if commenting it makes you uncomfortable

“ _Dan?_ ” The voice near my ear sounds _right_ , and aside from being a bit uncomfortable, I could stay in this exact spot for-

Fingers poke my arm, the exact annoying gesture I expect, though I can’t really remember why I’m so unsurprised. I ignore them, ignore my name, and bury my head further into- _into what?_

Everything hits me like a tidal wave, and my eyes fly open. And _fuck_ if my head’s not resting on someone’s shoulder, a someone I am very suddenly and very acutely aware is most likely the same someone I’ve seen myself falling madly in love with. Who I just met like five minutes ago.

“Dan? The plane’s about to land,” _oh, or maybe like nine fucking hours ago..._ Phil’s voice filters in again, and I pull away as if his words could physically harm me. _Oh god…_

“I am _so_ sorry,” I nearly press myself into the window, desperate to show how much I did _not_ mean to fall asleep on him. I keep expecting the onslaught of embarrassing possibilities to flash behind my eyes, to dig me deeper into this hole of mortification, but they don’t come - for some reason, they don’t come. Instead, Phil just fixes me with a soft smile.

“It’s no problem, my shoulder’s probably a lot more comfy than the window,” he points toward it, as if I didn’t know where the window was, as if I wasn’t already trying to bury myself in among the thick panes of plasticky glass or maybe just throw myself out and into the evening air. I keep expecting him to look away, to turn back and start packing up his things or pretend the whole event never happened, but he’s just watching me. I want it to be unnerving, it _should_ be, but it’s not.

“Your book, did you, uh, manage to finish it?” I grasp for anything to move the conversation along - it’s still laid out in his lap, open to some page, and he glances down for a moment. When his gaze returns to me, a sheepish grin has replaced his gentle smile.

“I must’ve dozed off myself, actually, I can’t even remember the last paragraph I read,” he admits, and I chuckle before I can catch myself. _Was that rude?_ But then he’s giggling as well, and I hate that I notice the way his tongue pokes out between his teeth. I hate the familiarity of the action, even though I’ve never technically seen it before. I hate how this is all destined to collapse into a pile of disappointment.

Below us, the plane shudders, apparently just touching down; belatedly, I wonder if Phil would’ve liked to watch us land. _I should’ve left the window open._ We’re both silent as the plane taxis us over to whichever gate, Phil scanning his book to either find his lost place or maybe to read just a few more pages before he has to pack up. For some reason, I get the feeling it’s the latter; I smirk, glad he isn’t paying me any attention at the moment.

But all too soon, everyone’s shuffling around and standing up, pulling bags out and grumbling as they wait for the person ahead of them to get a move on so they can get off the plane. I don’t stand til the last second, hunched over so I don’t smack my head into anything on the way out. Even though this is it, this is clearly the end of this fantasy moment where Phil and I could _be_ something, I find myself so reluctant to let it end; I stare at the back of his head like I can carve it into my memory, like it’s the last thing I’ll ever see before I go blind. 

It’s not, and life’ll go on, but it _feels_ that way.

I don’t mean to, but I snicker when his toe catches on the uneven surface - _I mean, there’s a bloody sign for it and everything_ \- and he flails for a moment before managing to right himself. I thought I’d hidden the sound, clamped my hand over my mouth quickly enough, but Phil’s head whips around, and he fixes me with the most absurd attempt at looking angry that I’ve ever seen.

Even _he_ can’t keep it up, because he’s giggling a second later, and he pauses just long enough that I find myself walking beside him. It’s not til we’re out and into the airport proper that I realize I should maybe say something, that just walking next to a stranger in complete silence is a bit odd.

But that’s the thing - it doesn’t _feel_ odd. It feels comfortable and normal. _Well, it does for_ me _, probably not for Phil..._ I have the benefit of these possible futures to make the moment not feel weird. 

“Uh, baggage claim, is it that way?” Phil says, pointing up at the sign which very clearly indicates that yes, it is off to the right. 

“Yeah, looks to be that way.” I’ll admit, at least to myself, I’m grateful he’s not trying to get rid of me just yet. Also, it’d be incredibly awkward for him to be like ‘ _yeah, be seeing you!_ ’ when we’d have to walk the same way to get to our luggage. _Which is obviously why he hasn’t said it yet - he’s just waiting til it wouldn’t be uncomfortable to do so._ I clear my throat.

“So, uh, did you ever figure out where you’d left off in your book?” Just because I’m fine walking in silence doesn’t mean he is, and I’m afraid things will inevitably turn tense. I’ve seen that happen in other scenarios, in a thousand different ways, and it’s always immensely embarrassing for both parties involved - keeping the conversation going, that’s more likely to point us toward one of the amazing futures.

“Sort of, I mean I got it, but I thought I could maybe finish it before we got off the plane, and I was _so close_!” I glance over to find his eyes squinted, fingers pinching the air. “The _worst_ cliffhanger,” he tacks on, and I watch his lips turn down in a pout. We’re stood waiting for the tram, now, and its rumble drowns out any chance of conversation for a minute.

“Well surely you can finish it on the way to your hotel, if it’s not too close?” I suggest once we’re onboard, and his eyes light up.

“Dan! You’re a genius,” he fixes me with a bright grin that I don’t feel like I deserve for such mundane words, but it makes my stomach flip over. “My hotel, it’s like an _hour_ from the airport, I’ll definitely be able to finish!” He’s going on about the book, I think, but all I can hear is ‘ _an hour_ ’ on repeat, and I nearly fall over when the tram grinds to a stop. _Surely not…_

But then he’s out the door, power-walking toward the baggage claim, and I don’t manage to catch up til he’s stood at our carousel; his foot taps impatiently as we watch the belt circle around with nothing on it.

“Sorry, wait, hold on, did you-” I pause when he looks over, brows lifted. “I, uh, did you say an hour away? Where are you- er, where’s your business thing?” I realize how weird - and maybe stalkerish - of a question that should be, coming from a perfect stranger, but I can’t be bothered to actually _care_. Hope is sparking in my chest, and I have to hold my breath to keep fireworks from spewing out my mouth and into the air between us. 

“Oh, out in...is it Cape Canaveral? I think that’s it,” his eyes drift up to the ugly greyish-white paneling of the ceiling. “Yeah, they’ve got us at a hotel near there, but I’m staying at the Radisson til Monday.” I think I would actually black out if it weren’t for the fact that doing so would entail collapsing in front of an entire airport of people. And Phil. _No, too embarrassing._

For a single sweltering second, Phil’s laughing, half naked and splashing me in the pool. Another flash, and his chest is pressed against mine, warm and hot at the same time. Then I’m laughing, and he bumps my hip. Each moment rushes at me with a tidal wave force, and I find myself rocking back on my heels.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m headed to the same place,” I smirk, trying to put on an air of confidence that I can’t even begin to feel, still reeling from all the possibilities; but Phil’s face lights up in a bright smile - it’s so solid and real and _present_ that I forget everything, then, like the tide’s gone out and sucked away everything except right now.

“That is pretty convenient, Dan, sure you’re not just trying to trick me into getting into a cab with you so you can kidnap me?” He chuckles, though, and I know he doesn’t mean it. I shouldn’t know that - and I think _he_ thinks I don’t know - because a moment later his whole expression has softened. “I mean, really though, that’d be great.”

_‘Great’? Oh my god. He actually-_

“Oh! That’s my bag!” His words interrupt the spiral my brain was about to dive into, which is probably for the best, because I notice my bag just a few behind his. It’s times like these I wonder if the universe isn’t conspiring to make things happen a certain way. I don’t _want_ to believe that, because really, it’s a bit nonsensical, but…

“And that’s mine,” I nudge him out of the way, reaching for my suitcase; when I turn back toward him, he’s got some kind of curious look on his face, lips twisted almost into a smile and brows lifted just a bit. 

But then it’s gone, and he’s gesturing toward the doors, and I end up walking beside him without hesitation. 

_Please, please universe, please let this be one of the happy endings…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi i changed the rating but it isn't cause of this chapter i just happened to write something a bit later that requires the change ;)

We pile into the cab without saying much - except to tell the driver where we’re headed - but I end up on the right side and Phil’s on the left and we don’t even have to ask to know that’s where the other’d prefer to sit. Phil’s got his messenger bag sat on his lap, and I half expect him to tug out his book and get to reading the moment the taxi pulls away from the curb.

But he doesn’t.

“So this wedding, huh, how’d they end up in Florida if you’re in London?” I do my best to control my expression, keep it neutral and not immensely surprised like it seems to want to be. _Wow, he actually_ wants _to talk to me?_

“Uh, well it’s a _very_ distant cousin, I guess they’re having a huge wedding or something and invited _everyone_. Even the billion-times-removed family from England,” I offer with a shrug. Phil leans back against his window, crossing his leg over and adjusting his bag. I mirror his position on my side of the cab.

“Wow, lucky you! You’re in town all weekend, then? Or is the wedding tomorrow and you’ll be heading out right after?” I don’t even _dare_ hope that there’s, well, _hope_ in his voice. 

“The whole damn weekend,” I say with a grin, because _he’s_ grinning and _fuck_ maybe for _once_ things will actually work out my way. “Although,” I add in the most offhand-comment kind of way, “haven’t a clue what I’ll actually _do_ all weekend. Wedding’s on Saturday, but I don’t even leave til Monday afternoon.” Phil just hums and mumbles something at his lap that I don’t quite catch. 

“What?” I’m suddenly desperate to know - hell, I’m desperate for _everything_ with Phil. But he just looks up at me, smirks, then tugs open the flap of his messenger bag. “ _What?_ ” I try again, and I know my voice is drifting into dangerously whiny territory but he can’t just _not_ tell me!

 _He can, actually, and any_ normal _stranger would..._ as soon as the thought drifts into my head, I duck down and turn toward the window. _Oh my god, I’m making a fucking fool of myself over a guy who I’ll probably never see again after tonight. Maybe in passing in the lobby of the hotel._

But Phil clears his throat, and my ears actually perk up - or twitch, whatever that little movement is that makes me wish for cat-like skills of twisting my ear around to hear him better - and I wait in the almost-silence of the cab for him to say something. To tell me what he’d said.

“I said I’d, uh, I mean, if you ever get bored, I’ve got plenty of free time as well.” It’s still almost a mumble, but my chest about explodes. I have to physically restrain myself from whirling around. I have to physically restrain myself from doing a _lot_ right now.

My brain, however, has no such limitations: there’s us, laid out on the beach and staring up at the night sky, with one hand in mine and the other just barely visible as he points out some star or other. Or maybe a constellation. It doesn’t matter. Then we’re beside the pool, and his arms have wrapped around my waist and I think we’re falling into the water but I don’t care because I’ve already fucking _fallen_ , can’t he tell? A final flash of barely a second, when his fingers have paused on my forehead, he’s just brushed some damp hair from in front of my eyes, and it’s such a _nothing_ moment but I’m already gone, lost in it.

“I mean, if you want, that is,” Phil’s voice pulls me back. _Fucking hell- focus. Focus on the present. This is...it could actually be something, there’s a chance. I can’t get lost in these future possibilities._ For probably the first time in my entire life of coping with this affliction, the weight of the statement ‘ _living in the present_ ’ truly hits me, hard and fast.

“I would! Actually, yeah,” I choke back my initial surge of excitement, elation, and shift in my seat in the hopes of redistributing some of that unnecessary energy. “I mean, like I said, wedding’s not til Saturday, so I’ve got all of tomorrow free, and Sunday, and-” I break off, because I really didn’t make _any_ plans - it was a bit of a last-minute trip, and I hadn’t been keen on going, but my parents had insisted. _And now I probably sound desperate._

I mean, I _am_ desperate, but Phil doesn’t have to know that.

“Cool, well, uh, maybe I could, like, get your number? Or something?” Even in the dark backseat of the car, I can tell Phil’s flustered - _because I’ve seen it, I’ve seen this look_ \- and I try to keep calm enough that I won’t absolutely scare the hell out of him with how thrilled I am.

Instead of responding, I just grin and stick my hand out. A moment later, I’m holding his very warm phone and waking the screen, intent on going to his contacts. Until I’m met with a passcode requirement - the little pattern one - and I wiggle the screen at him.

“Oh! Here, uh, it’s actually just a swirl, like-” he breaks off, and I extend the phone back toward him, thinking he’s about to take it and unlock it, but he just sets his hand under mine. I try not to freak out. Fortunately, he’s holding us still, or I’d probably have dropped the damned thing by now, with how much I’m sure I’d be shaking.

“There!” He announces, and the sudden warmth disappears along with his grip on my hand. I honestly wasn’t even paying attention to the code, though there are only so many ways I can think to make a spiral with the dots. _Cause sure, I’ll be unlocking his phone all the time, won’t I?_ I clear my throat and give him a tight smile before navigating to his contacts.

Because I’m petty and pessimistic and absolutely sure this whole thing will tank the moment we step out of the cab, I decide to give _him_ the responsibility of texting me. _If he’s actually as interested as he seems - and if I’m not just imagining it all - he’ll text me._ I hand him back the phone, a weight settling in my stomach.

“Here, now you have mine,” he taps at his screen for a second, and my pocket buzzes a moment later. _Well shit,_ my doubts and cynicism dissolve into thin air as I tug my own phone out.

**(Unknown): __**_hey dan! it’s me, phil!_

I’ll admit, my thumb shakes a bit as I save his number. _I cannot believe...this is actually happening?_ There’s still that bothersome fatalistic voice in the back of my head promising that this’ll all fall apart when I least expect it, because that’s _always_ what happens, but I feel like I’m flying on cloud fucking nine and I can’t even give that stupid voice a second thought right now.

“Thanks,” I finally manage, hoping my smile is a completely normal-looking one, and that I’m successfully hiding just how shocked I am. “Oh!” Because I can’t be trusted to think straight right now, or maybe even think _at all_ , I grope for anything to distract him for a bit. To give my head and heart a break. “Did you want to finish your book?” I gesture at his bag, still settled in his lap, and he actually _gasps_ before pulling it out and flipping to a spot near the very end.

“Thanks for reminding me!” He breathes the words out, but he’s already bowed his head over and clearly enraptured by the story, so I don’t bother responding. Instead, I just watch him - the way his eyes flick back and forth as he reads, how his glasses reflect the passing street lights, each tug of his lips or eyebrows outlining his reactions to the story. 

It’s not til he’s gotten through several pages that he sits back and takes a very deep, heavy breath. He’s been frowning for the past page and a half - I assumed at some troubling event in the book - but now he’s dropped his head onto the headrest, and I’m not so sure. _That’s not how he looks when he’s engrossed in something…_

“Are you alright?” I try to keep my voice soft, because it feels like a time I should be soft and quiet and gentle. I’d reach out and lay a hand on his arm, let him know I’m here, if that wasn’t a very un-stranger-like thing to do. For a long minute, he doesn’t respond, just squeezing his eyes shut; then, very briefly, he shakes his head.

“I thought I’d be fine, but reading makes me carsick,” he forces the words out, voice tight and a little higher-pitched than it’s been so far. Now I’m _very_ tempted to touch him, to pull him into my chest and run a soothing hand across his back. _I could be that pillar of support for you, let me be there for you._ I brush the thought aside, though my lips still tug down in concern.

“Is there, uh, anything I can do to help?” I offer instead - I’ve never dealt with being carsick myself, nor with anyone else, so I haven’t the first clue how to make him feel better. But an urgent need courses through my veins to do just that, to be the reason he feels okay again.

He mumbles something, then turns fully toward me. His book is still laid out in front of him, open to whatever page, but his eyes bore holes in me like I’ve just told him I’m an alien or something.

“Sorry, what?” I manage after a moment, trying to see past the wide blue that’s suddenly encompassing my vision. _Those eyes, ten times closer, with little crinkles around the edges because he’s smiling. Because I’ve made him smile_.

“I said I was okay, mostly, when we were talking. Would you mind if we talked a bit more?” His voice has lost the high, stiff tone it had earlier, now coming out lower and easier. I swallow thickly.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Uhm, what did you want to talk about, then?” I rush the words out. There’s a tug in his cheek, just the slightest lift of the corner of his mouth that sends my heart racing because _fuck_ he’s smiling because of _me_ , even though I’ve done nothing special. 

“If you could have _any_ crossbreed of _any_ animals as a pet, what would you pick?”

I actually fucking _snort_ at his question. _He is...something else._


	6. Chapter 6

We talk about absolutely nothing of consequence - which seems like the most amazing thing in the world to me - for the entire rest of the drive. Hell, I’m barely willing to drag myself from the backseat and out into the humid night air once we arrive, but Phil hops out of the cab the moment it’s slowed to a stop. 

To be fair, if he’d been feeling nauseous, I can’t really blame him.

I have the driver swipe my card, since my parents agreed to pay for transport anyway, then join Phil in collecting our suitcases from the back. The moment I’ve hauled my bag out and slammed the trunk shut, the car shifts out of park and heads off down the road.

“Wait! We didn’t-” Phil’s raised a hand in the air at the taxi, but it drops back down to his side, and he turns his gaze on me. “Don’t tell me you paid!” He practically whines, and I cough out a laugh at the implication that my covering the tab would be a _bad_ thing.

“Yeah, my parents are footing the bill, don’t worry,” I shake my head when his lips part, brows scrunched in a way that says he’s about to protest. So he can’t argue, I spin on a heel and head off and into the lobby. There’s a few people queued up to check in - probably distant relatives, if I think about it, with how massive this wedding’s going to be - so I situate myself at the back to wait.

As I’d hoped, Phil trails in after me, and I try not to make it obvious that I’m watching him cross the elegant creamy-white floors. Hell, _everything’s_ that ‘ _look how luxurious we are_ ’ cream color, now that I’m taking a moment to absorb it. Phil actually kind of blends right into the background, with the exception of his stark black hair.

“I’m paying you back eventually,” he grumbles, but I just grin at him and fight back the urge to say something along the lines of ‘ _oh, I can think of quite a few ways for you to pay me back_ ’. Or even worse, ‘ _I already_ know _of quite a few ways you’ll pay me back, depending on the timeline_ ’. Yeah, that conversation’s never gone over well with anyone, pretty much ever.

So we stand there in relative silence, and I pretend to look around, eyes sliding over the decor with disinterest until they land on Phil. I only allow myself brief glances, ones that could be played off as him being in my way as I take in the architecture of the place, but my heart is basically _living_ for the moments where I can take in his profile - fortunately, he’s just as distracted as I am, though he seems to actually care about the lobby design.

“Next?” The voice startles me, a woman’s that certainly sounds nothing like Phil’s - _of course she doesn’t, you idiot_. Because I’m feeling polite - or maybe just because I’d love any excuse to stare at Phil without him knowing - I turn toward him and gesture for him to go first. He just lifts his brows for a moment before brushing past and onto the lady.

And then I get exactly what I’d hoped for: an unobstructed view of Phil. Well, a view from the back, at least. _Although there’s plenty to enjoy from the back as well..._ my eyes dip lower on his frame, but I pout at the way his suitcase is situated, just blocking the lower half of his legs. _Okay, maybe not so unobstructed. Fine, I’ll make do with what I_ can _see, then_.

I drift for a minute, for once actually _imagining_ instead of having these uncontrollable glimpses of future possibilities, but I’m not sure it’d make any difference - all I can think about are the very same flashes that had gotten me stuck in this mess to begin with. 

Just then, there’s an incredulous ‘ _what?!_ ’ from the very subject of those fantasies, and I have to blink a few times to refocus. _Real world, pay attention_. Phil’s leaned over the desk, staring at a computer screen as the lady points.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we have no record of your reservation here, and we’re all booked up for the rest of the weekend,” her voice carries, or maybe I’m just a little too nosy, but-

Phil in my room - and I _know_ it’s mine - lips twisted at me and brows raised; he’s just asked something, something that’s sent my heart racing and blood rushing to my cheeks. Then it fades into blackness, that same blackness I’d seen ages ago on the plane, with warmth and comfort curling around me in the form of Phil. 

Back in the present, I suck in a breath and step forward, simultaneously terrified and exhilarated at the idea that pops into my head. _This is a terrible plan, it’s going to go all kinds of wrong!_ My brain helpfully shouts, but I shove the doubt aside - and Phil along with it, as I reach the counter.

“Phil, don’t tell me you’re trying to check in under _your_ name?” I slide my eyes sideways at him, widening them just a bit - _please just go with it!_ _And, uh, please be okay with it?_ I pull my gaze away and back to the woman. “It should _actually_ be under Daniel Howell.”

If she gets any indication that I’m just bullshitting this right now, she doesn’t show it - or maybe she just can’t be bothered to care. She tilts the screen back to face her, taps at the keyboard. There’s a brief pause, and my nerves get the best of me.

“It’s H-o-w-e-double L,” I add, in case she’s gotten it wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Ah, yes, here it is, thank you,” she looks up at me, then glances between us briefly. I very studiously avoid looking over at Phil. “Alright, we’ve actually had to put you in a room with a single king, I hope that’s alright?” She gives us another implicative look, one that sends heat rushing up to my cheeks, but I try to smooth right over it.

“That’s fine.” My voice definitely does _not_ sound any higher-pitched than usual, thank you very much. 

“Alright, it’s already paid for, can we just check your card?” I fumble around in my pocket, fishing out my wallet and handing over my parents’ credit card. My hand doesn’t shake even the slightest bit, not at all. “Great,” she hands it back a moment later, “we’ll keep that on file for any room service or other charges. You’ll be in one-eighteen, down the hall to the left and go out those doors right across the way,” she’s pointing, but I’m not entirely sure I follow the instructions. 

“Perfect, thanks!” Phil chimes in beside me - _has his voice gone higher as well?_ \- as he takes the proffered keycards that I hadn’t even realized the woman was holding out for us. I give her my best smile, which feels fake but I don’t have the time or energy or mental capacity to make it more real, then rush off to follow Phil - he’s apparently already pushing out the doors the lady had mentioned.

I speed-walk to catch up, bursting through as quickly as I can because he clearly understood where we were meant to go and I can’t lose him, which is how I nearly walk smack into him where he’s stood just outside.

“Oh! Wait, did you-” I’m about to ask if he didn’t understand the directions as well as he’d thought - I couldn’t really blame him if that were the case - but he holds up a hand.

“You can’t just do that!” He nearly shouts, and I have to glance around to be sure nobody’s out and watching us. Phil must notice my look, because he lowers his voice to an angry sort of whisper. “That’s _cheating_!” 

I sputter out a laugh - _cheating?_ Of all the things I expected him to be mad about, it wasn’t the aspect of cheating the system.

“Cheat- Phil, really, _that’s_ what your problem with this is?” I let my mouth hang open a bit, shaking my head, but it quickly turns into a smirk at the way he frowns. “Fine, would you rather I go back in and tell the woman I’ve only just met you today, you aren’t really staying in the same room?” I hike a thumb over my shoulder. Phil groans, an exasperated noise that says I’ve won without having to actually say it.

 _What have I won, though?_ The thought excites me, until Phil whirls around and marches through the next set of doors, obviously frustrated but not enough to try to find another hotel at what - to us - feels like two in the morning. _I mean, he’s not_ really _mad, is he?_ The squirming of doubt in my stomach sticks with meas I follow Phil all the way to our room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fist on table* and there was _**one bed**_


	7. Chapter 7

I can’t decide if I love or hate the moment when Phil turns toward me, the door closing slowly behind us, and asks if he should sleep on the floor.

Love, because it’s one of the futures I saw, it’s that _exact_ expression - a pout but not quite, scrunched brows, and the implication hanging in the air that there’s really only one bed. Suddenly, I feel like we’re caught in some horrible trope - _and there was only one bed!_

Hate, because I want to say ‘ _no_ ’. I want to tell him to sleep in the damn bed with me, to fucking _cuddle_ me, and let me fall asleep on his chest and- I exhale. _I can’t do that_.

“No, we should share the bed,” my tongue betrays me - that’s not at _all_ what I told it to say - and my cheeks flush bright red. Well, brighter red, I’m sure, than they had been just from hearing his original question. But maybe not quite as red as the color _his_ cheeks turn, and I have to stick my free hand in my pocket to stop it from reaching up to feel just how warm he is.

To his credit, he doesn’t look _too_ put off by the idea - whether it’s that he’s just trying to find a polite way to refuse or because he’s actually considering it, I’m not sure, but his eyes widen the slightest bit and his pout turns into pursed lips. _Thinking, he’s thinking._

_Oh god, he’s actually thinking about it._

“I mean, only if you want!” I practically shout. “We’re both giants, but the bed’s pretty huge,” I gesture toward it, as if he hasn’t already seen it. As if he wasn’t the one to point it out to begin with. I just need to do something, to make him stop staring at _me_.

“I mean, if _you’re_ alright with it…” Phil reaches up to rub the back of his neck, but I still catch the slight tug in his cheek that says he’s smiling, just a bit. Relief floods through me, loosening all the tension I didn’t realize I’d been holding in my shoulders; they slump, and I drag my suitcase further into the room.

“Sure, I mean, you don’t talk in your sleep, right? Or like, kick or whatever?” I try to make it sound like a joke, but the reality of- well, of _reality_ is just too weighty right now. _This is actually fucking happening. This isn’t just in my head, a flash of a possible future I shouldn’t even bother hoping for._

Frankly, reality is starting to look less and less real.

“I don’t, no,” Phil chuckles, following me farther into the room. He drops down beside his own suitcase, unzipping it and digging through the messy piles of brightly-colored fabric - the clothes contrast sharply with the plain black-on-black he’s wearing now, but I can see how the bright blue of the button down he’s just tossed aside would make his eyes stand out. 

“I’m, uh, gonna go change and get ready to sleep,” he announces, standing, and I realize I haven’t even moved since he opened his bag. “Can’t believe I’m still tired after literally sleeping for nine hours, but I’ll probably be up at three a.m. or something,” he trails off as he heads for the bathroom, and I grunt out some sound of agreement; once the door’s shut, I abandon my suitcase in favor of flopping down on the bed face-first. It seems like the only sensible thing to do at the moment.

 _Oh god, I’m literally going to be sleeping in the same hotel room - in the same fucking_ bed _\- as a complete stranger, someone I don’t even know. What the fuck is wrong with me?_ I mean, I’ve not foreseen him coming for me with a knife in the middle of the night or trying to rob me blind, but I don’t always see the bad stuff unless-

_Unless I’m in a shit mood._

I bury my face into the duvet, trying to draw on every possible thing I can imagine going wrong - Phil robbing me, threatening me, attacking me, or maybe even just hating me. _Somehow, that’d be even worse._ Rejecting me, or the loss I’ll feel once we inevitably part and never cross paths again. I keep expecting _something_ , some flash of that future, keep expecting those horrible possibilities to manifest and flood me with that solid belief that things will _never_ work out my way.

But they don’t. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, and then the bathroom door opens and there are soft footsteps as Phil comes back into the room, and I’m not sure what he thought he’d find me doing while I waited, but I doubt it was having some kind of crisis while lying face-down on the bed.

“Dan?” There’s a pause, an audible beat of silence, before I push up off the duvet and just decide to roll with it.

“Took you long enough!” I sort of laugh, but it’s honestly a horrible joke - really, barely even passing for a joke at all - but I use it as my escape route and dig through my own bag as quickly as I can before locking myself in the annoyingly cream-colored bathroom. _Sure, everything’s fucking cream, why?_ I wonder, momentarily distracted and needing something to rant at. _It’s not even that nice a color!_

But of course, all my frustration has more to do with the fact that I couldn’t force any visions. I mean, you’d think that after literal _years_ of dealing with them, I would already _know_ that I can’t force them. And yet here I am, thinking that maybe - for no reason whatsoever - it’ll work this time. _I guess I should at least be_ glad _I haven’t seen any bad possibilities yet…_

With that thought in mind, sort of lightening my mood, I quickly swap my jeans for sweatpants and my shirt for a much softer t-shirt, then scrub at my face with some cold water. When I stare at my dripping reflection in the mirror, I’m less than pleased to find my cheeks are still bright red. A few more icy cold splashes do not help as much as I’d hoped they would.

Resigned to my fate of looking embarrassed to be crawling into bed with Phil - which, to be fair, I’m more embarrassed about everything I want to _do_ in bed with him, with this perfect stranger (emphasis on _perfect_ ) - I stick my face in the nearest hand towel to dry off and head back into the room.

Phil’s already sat on the bed against the headboard, on the left side, and tucked under the covers. In his lap, he’s got the book he’s apparently dead-set on finishing, and I chuckle. Which of course makes him look up, lips a bit parted as he tugs himself from whatever world he’s been so engrossed in.

“Oh! You’re done...uh, would it be alright if I finished this? It shouldn’t take long, I promise!” He asks as if I would ever even _entertain_ the idea of saying no to him; that thought alone makes me tilt my head in false consideration, shifting my gaze briefly to the ceiling.

“You’re already _well_ indebted to me,” I point out, tapping my chin, “but I _suppose_ I can let this slide,” when I finally turn back toward him, though, he’s frowning. “No, no,” I shake my head, going as fully serious as I can manage. “It’s really fine, I was just joking. I promise I don’t mind.”

Before he can argue - and he looks about to - I lift the duvet and slide under it on my side, keeping as close to the edge as I can manage.

“Just turn the light out when you’re done, yeah?” I say over my shoulder, and he hums in acknowledgment. I let my eyes drift shut, inhale deeply, then exhale, telling my body to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Sleep, of course, is a little bitch that won’t come when it’s called.

So for a very very long time, I end up staring at the blackness behind my eyelids and listening to the soft rustle of a page turning, of Phil shifting in the bed, of slow breaths that aren’t mine. If it weren’t so damn exhilarating, it might actually be calming.

But this isn’t Phil-in-five-years or however long, this isn’t one of the futures I saw where he’s wrapped his arms around me and I’m falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in my ear. It’s the present, where we’ve known each other not twelve hours and yet we’re sleeping in the same bed. Innocently, of course, but _still_.

Although, to be fair, I’m not as tired as I thought I’d be, so it’s not til there’s a click and the room darkens beyond my closed eyes that I actually make a genuine effort to fall asleep. Which is also a bit harder, because there’s like a kind of tension in the air - one that feels like we’re both very _aware_ of each other, of the fact that we’re in the same bed, of the usual implications of being in bed with another person. 

Frankly, it’s crackling like lightning around us. Or maybe that’s just me.

I think my own breathing’s gone fast, or maybe Phil’s has and mine is following, because I’m suddenly very aware of the sounds in the room: whichever of us is near hyperventilating (probably me), the soft rustle of sheets (definitely me, I can’t find a comfortable position for my arm), a creak of springs (Phil, I think, because I had finally gone still for a moment), the click of the air conditioning as it turns on and fills the space with a cool breeze and a soft whirring sound.

\---------------

Maybe that’s what finally lulls me off to sleep, that whirring, because I’m suddenly awake and aware and once again wondering if I’m stuck inside my head, obsessing over one of those flashes of the future. _If I’m not…_

I’m very warm, first of all, well warmer than when I went to sleep - and in spite of the AC going. Hell, I’m _hot_ , and it takes me a moment to realize that’s because there’s a body curled around me. Exactly like in my vision of the future, although I’m definitely far less comfortable, so I doubt it’s _that_ future. Briefly, I debate whether to wake Phil or stay in his arms a little longer - I’ve sort of just accepted that I’d probably walk through a literal fire for moments like this, a little discomfort is nothing.

But then there’s a breath at the back of my neck, heavier than the one before, and I can feel Phil shifting against me. Unbelievably, he’s actually tugging me closer, though I’m still holding my breath - if he’s awake, he clearly hasn’t realized the position we’re in. 

“Dan?” It’s barely a whisper, and I do my best not to shiver. _Do I pretend to be asleep? Or admit that I’ve been awake?_

“Hm?” I try to find a balance between the two, something that maybe says ‘ _oh, I just woke up this very second, how strange to find us in this compromising position!_ ’. 

“Oh, sorry,” he loosens his hold around my chest, pulling back just slightly, but I am very acutely aware of the fact that he doesn’t rush to pull away. _Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, keep your breathing even…_

“‘S fine,” I mumble, very pointedly also not moving. 

I’ll be honest, of all the directions I expect things to go, him tightening his arms around me and actually burying his face in the space between my shoulder blades is like a bloody sharp turn up onto the fucking zed-axis, straight into the air. 

I really have no idea what time it is - except that it’s still dark and I’m wide awake, so I’m guessing early morning by Floridian time - but I _do_ know that I probably won’t get much more sleep tonight. 

\------------------

Phil, on the other hand, seems to have no trouble drifting off, if his breathing’s anything to go by. I spend the next however long - til the sun’s started rising - flipping between ‘ _this can’t possibly be happening_ ’ and ‘ _oh my god, maybe this is really happening_ ’. 

Somehow, in all that time, I get absolutely no interruptions from the future. I can’t decide if that’s a win or not. 

Well, until Phil’s breaths come faster and his head nudges my back and I get the impression he’s finally waking up. _No, this is definitely a win - I got to spend half the night wrapped in the arms of the stranger I’m desperately hoping for a future with._ At least if things go downhill from here, I can hold onto this moment. This reality. This thing that actually, unbelievably, definitely happened.

Unfortunately, this fairytale waking-up-moment is not nearly as magical as the one earlier had been: Phil goes from snuggling into me to nearly throwing himself off the bed in a matter of seconds, and I try not to let that sting. _It shouldn’t! He doesn’t even know me!_ It does, though.

“Ohmygod, Dan! I’m so sorry, I don’t know what-” he breaks off, and I can’t really guess why because I’m still trying to steel myself to turn around and look in his bloody eyes and pretend I’m not upset that he’s so offended by the idea of curling up with me.

“It’s no big deal,” I assure him. _I mean, it_ was _a big deal, I wanted it to be a big deal, actually._ I finally manage to roll over. “At least you didn’t kick me.” When I shrug into the pillow, it feels fake. The stupid eyebrow quirk I do - somehow trying to say ‘ _nah, it was funny, it’s fine_ ’ - feels fake.

“I’m, uh,” he points toward the bathroom, still scrambling to get out from under the duvet so he can escape a little faster. “Shower,” he finally articulates, then goes about crouching down by his suitcase to pull out little travel toiletries and rush off to the bathroom. 

Once again, the door shuts, and I find myself burying my face in the pillow and groaning. _That’s it, all hope for those lovely futures gone again…_

Not for the first time, I wonder _why_. Why haven’t I seen anything negative to do with Phil? I’m clearly in the right mindset for it. And why him? Why me? And why do I see these futures I might never have? _For fuck’s sake, I can’t just jump to questions of my own affliction every time things don’t make sense…_

Just then, the characteristic rush of water lets me know that Phil’s turned on the shower, and that brings on a whole other onslaught of thoughts - of course, _these_ quickly evolve into flashes of the future, but I’m finding I really don’t mind.

Phil, all pale skin and sharp angles and _fuck_ he’s completely naked. Apparently, that’s all I can think in that moment, anyhow, evidently so enraptured by his body that I can’t form a single coherent thought. I can’t really blame my future self - this future self. The next future self is much more... _involved_ : I can’t see anything, my eyes must be closed, but _jesus fucking christ_ my back is pressed against cold tile, hands grip my hips to hold me still, and teeth scrape against the skin of my neck in the most intoxicating way - I’m fuzzy and dizzy and out of breath and I’m not even moving. 

It’s not til I feel my hips canting into the mattress that I realize exactly what kind of horrible predicament I’ve gotten myself stuck in. _Oh my god, I’ve seen him fucking naked, and I have to pretend I haven’t, what the fuck am I-_

I could swear it’s only been a minute, but the water’s already switching off, and I have to suppress a groan - one of pleasure or absolute mortification, I can’t say for sure, because I’m still face-down on the bed with a very uncomfortable problem that I have exactly zero seconds to deal with. 

“Dan?” I nearly jump out of my damn skin at Phil’s voice, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to tug the duvet up over my head and disappear into the mattress. “Are you going to shower now, or do you mind if I use the bathroom to change?” I _can’t_ , I just _can’t_ make myself look over, pretend everything’s normal and okay and that I’m not still picturing him standing naked before me and-

“Later!” I shout into the pillow - maybe at myself, or maybe at Phil. “Later, I need like. Five minutes.” I turn my outburst into what I hope is a convincing ‘ _I’m just sleepy_ ’ grumble. He makes some noise of acknowledgment, and I listen closely for him to grab whatever he’s planning on wearing - _oh god, what if he’s just walking around in a towel right now? Could I even handle that?_

Footsteps pass the bed, and I turn my head at the last second, too tempted by the idea of seeing any part of Phil’s bare skin in this very strange but promising reality. I’m met with only the trailing end of several towels as he disappears behind the wall and back into the bathroom, which is severely disappointing but gives me a minute to will away my boner. Or at least adjust everything to hide it until I can get in the shower myself.


	9. Chapter 9

After what I’m proud to call my quietest - albeit most fucking _intense_ \- wank session of my entire life, I finally emerge from the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around my waist and still admittedly a bit damp. My walk across the room might be a little dramatic, a little sexy and a whole lot on purpose, but what can I say? If this is all destined to fall apart anyway, I may as well have fun with it.

“So, no proper pl- uh, plans for the day?” Phil’s voice breaks mid-sentence, and I try not to smirk until my face is out of his line of sight. My ass sure isn’t, though, and I take my time bending over to dig through my suitcase. Alright, so I might still be riding the high of that orgasm as far as it’ll take me, but the odds I’ll actually get laid - or even get anywhere _close_ \- have never been in my favor. That wouldn’t change now, surely.

“Nope, no plans,” I confirm, keeping my tone casual. “Have something in mind you’d like to do?” I roll my shoulders as I stand back up, then spin to find Phil very red, wide-eyed and just staring at me. I offer my most innocent smile.

“You- uh, I mean, you want to go to the beach, maybe?” I’ll admit, because I’m still feeling stupidly confident and a lot sexy at the moment, that I might have Phil flustered, and it might be going to my head. _It was an admirable attempt at a recovery._

“Oh, good idea!” I whirl back around, making a point to bend back over my bag in search of my trunks and a t-shirt instead of the button down and black jeans I’d originally pulled out. _No idea why I haven’t done this before, flirting is fun as hell._

It’s not til I’ve locked myself back in the bathroom that I take a few shaky breaths, anxiety replacing all my self-assuredness in one fell swoop. _Oh god, what if I just made him uncomfortable? What if he wasn’t into me at all?_ My free hand grips the sink until my knuckles match the off-white surface, then I push away and let my towel fall. By the time I’m dressed, I’ve made my decision: _I’m sure as fuck not gonna get to any of those future possibilities I keep dreaming about if I don’t even try._

And for once, for _once_ in my goddamn life, I want to try. I want this badly enough that it’s worth putting forth some effort, putting myself out there.

So I do just that, bursting out of the bathroom with the intent of announcing we ought to go grab some breakfast before we go anywhere - and hell, the idea of ‘ _we_ ’ running through my brain a bit overwhelming in its own right - only to pause mid-breath, mouth wide open. Because Phil’s stood there - turned away, mind you, but still - with only his trunks on.

Then he’s pulling his shirt down over his head, covering his back, and it’s like someone blocked the freeze-ray and I can move again. My feet stumble forward, Phil turns, the world keeps on spinning, and I try not to think about all the other parts of him I’ve already seen-but-not-seen without clothes on.

“Breakfast?” I manage to squeak out, a really poor imitation of how suave I’d sounded in my head. But Phil’s eyes light up, and I end up chuckling, and all my tension sort of falls away. _It’s Phil, how could I be anything but comfortable?_ But a piece of me keeps stressing that I need to be careful, I have to keep the line between reality and the futures I’ve seen. I need to work my way toward those futures - and getting there feels like a _need_ , now, like I couldn’t possibly survive without living one of those lives - but I can’t just jump past all the stuff in between.

“Yeah! I think they’ve got a breakfast buffet, I’m _starving_ ,” his head drops back, every bit as dramatic as I’d normally be, but somehow he makes it seem endearing and a little adorable. I smirk, chuckle, and wait for him before heading out the door.

It’s not til it’s just about shut that it hits me.

“Keys!” I shout, lunging for the door. Which I barely manage to catch in some feat of athleticism and fast reflexes that I must’ve borrowed from an olympian because they sure as hell don’t belong to me. But I do catch it, at which point I realize I’ve placed myself right in front of Phil, chest to chest and a bit close for comfort. 

Or, rather, it’s probably not very comfortable for _him_ , being half an inch away from a complete stranger, but I’m all of two seconds from leaning in for a fucking kiss. _Fuck, I really wish I could just...drop myself into one of those futures, where I can do that. Where we do that, we just kiss randomly and it’s normal. Where that bubble of excitement and happiness I feel in my chest is normal._

I clear my throat, then prop the door open further and rush inside to grab our keys. By the time I’m back out, handing over one keycard and pocketing the other, I think my face has cooled and Phil doesn’t look all that bothered by the interaction. Or lack thereof, if we’re being technical.

We walk in silence, as if we know where we’re going, though I can’t imagine we wouldn’t figure it out along the way - surely the buffet isn’t hard to find. It’s not til we’re outside, walking between the two sets of doors, that Phil decides it’s about time to chat.

“So, uh, how’d you sleep?” His voice is casual bordering on nervous, which I only know because that’s exactly how mine would sound if I tried to answer at this exact moment. _So we’re just glossing over the whole middle-of-the-night cuddle-fest, then, are we?_ But I don’t _want_ to just pretend it didn’t happen. Because it did. And I fucking _enjoyed it_ , thanks very much.

“Got a bit warm partway through the night, but well enough,” I can’t decide if my voice sounds sufficiently teasing, or if it’s too sarcastic, or if I just sound as anxious as I feel and I’m doing a proper shit job of hiding it. Because I want to know what _he_ thinks. I blatantly ignore my own lie about how I actually slept - frankly, that’s entirely irrelevant. 

“Right, uh, sorry about that,” Phil lets out a sort-of chuckle, and I dare a glance over to find a small, sheepish grin on his face. His cheeks have tinted pink, just the lightest blush. We push through the doors and into the lobby.

“I said it this morning, it’s fine, I didn’t mind at all,” I hope I’m not putting _too_ much emphasis on my lack of caring, but I don’t know the right way to say ‘ _I wish you’d done it sooner, I wish you hadn’t pulled away, hell, I wish you’d done so much more than that_ ’ without coming off a bit creepy. How do I convey ‘ _we could be amazing, I’ve seen it_ ’ in a way that doesn’t scream ‘ _also I’m out of my goddamn mind_ ’?

“Ooh!” Phil either does a great job of purposely avoiding responding or he’s really just _that_ easily distracted, but in any case, he’s grabbing my forearm and dragging me across the near-empty lobby and toward where the buffet must be going on - I have to assume, because the closer we get, the stronger the scents of bacon and waffles and other wonderful breakfast specialties.

Also, Phil’s holding onto me, which is pretty significant in and of itself, and I’m a bit overwhelmed all of a sudden.

“They have _pancakes,_ Dan, proper _American pancakes_!”


	10. Chapter 10

By the time we’ve both sat down, Phil’s plate piled high with all things breakfasty and full of sugar and mine a nice balance between the savory and sweet, I’m pretty sure I’ve gained ten pounds just from how delicious everything _smells_.

Phil wastes no time digging into his syrup-drowned pancakes, and I’m desperately tempted to make some offhand comment about how he’s already too sweet, he doesn’t need the extra sugar. Which is such a _coupley_ thing to say that I can’t bring myself to actually say it, even if I add a smirk at the end - as much as I’m now desperately wishing for it, we aren’t a couple. Hell, we may _never_ be. I shouldn’t even get my hopes up.

_Too late, they’re sky-high and destined to crash and burn just like every other time I’ve let myself get excited for something._

Fortunately, I have an entire plate of food to shove in my mouth to keep it from talking, from saying things I absolutely should not be saying, so I do just that. We eat in relative silence, the chatter of other guests and some tropical background music the only real sounds. I’m once again _floored_ by how comfortable this is - it feels so normal and casual and-

A flat I don’t recognize, a table, us sitting across from each other just like we are in the present, stuffing our faces with slightly-burnt pancakes - the proper kind - and Phil’s got a bit of nutella on his chin that I’m just reaching over to wipe away, a smirk on my lips. 

And it’s gone just as quickly, because Phil - this present, real Phil - is staring at me, brows scrunched a bit and a bite of pancake poised just in front of his face.

“You alright?” He asks, and I can’t find the courage to say I’m fucking _amazing_ , actually, so I just nod and shove a slice of bacon in my mouth. _How can something so uneventful be so damn exciting?_ I mean, I’ve had British pancakes a hundred times. They’re great, sure, but how can eating them with one specific person suddenly make me want to eat nothing else for the rest of my life?

Phil must decide I’m fine - and really, I’m more than fine - because he’s dug back into his own food a moment later; I’m left trying not to giggle at the way he dips his already-syrupy pastry - a casualty of the drowning of the pancakes - into the pool of syrup on his plate. 

“I’m willing to bet at least eighty percent of your blood is actually syrup,” I point my fork at him, lifting an accusing eyebrow, but he just grins around his mouthful.

“At least _ninety_ , actually,” Phil corrects once he’s swallowed the bite, and I snort out an ugly laugh that makes his grin widen. For one single, solitary second, I’m actually more glad to be in the present than the future - I made Phil laugh, the real, actual, _present_ me, not some idealized future self who’s probably twelve times better than I’ll ever be. _Me._

“Yeah, alright, sugar glutton,” I smirk, “almost done?” 

“Never!” He jokes, but he’s pouting down at the mostly empty plate and poking around with his fork and I definitely get the idea he’s full but not willing to part with the rest of his food. He must make a snap decision, then, because he pops one more bite of pancake into his mouth before shoving his plate away, and I have to stifle a giggle. “Fine! I have been defeated, you may roll me away now!” He drops his head back and slumps in his chair.

“Should we head to the beach, then?” I offer, pushing back from the table and standing. Phil just groans up at me, apparently unable to move. 

“How far is it?” He grumbles, resting a hand on his stomach. For a moment, I turn my head, searching the room as if it’ll magically hold the answer to how close the beach is, then I pat down the pockets of my trunks. Then I’m the one groaning.

“Come on, we have to go back, I left my phone in the room,” I take a few steps toward the lobby, but Phil doesn’t follow, so I spin and cross my arms at him. If such a thing can be done _at_ someone. “Are you coming?” 

For a very brief moment, I’m actually considering that he might say no - there’s literally no real reason for him to come back with me, aside from the fact that I really don’t want to spend time apart from him. Which is silly, because we’re strangers, we’re here for two totally separate reasons, and it’s frankly sheer coincidence we even met to begin with. I’m one second from frowning and giving up - _I mean, the sooner I accept that this is a temporary thing, and that this isn’t even really a_ thing _, the better off I’ll be once it ends._

But Phil just groans again, extracting himself from the chair and pouting at me before he heads off toward our room. I try very hard to contain my elation, but it pushes its way to my face in the form of a bright grin that Phil can’t see because he’s walking in front of me.

\--------------------

“We are _not_ going to the beach,” I argue, although I’m not even sure why I’m arguing - Phil’s just as adamantly against it as I am.

“I can’t believe it’s a half hour walk away!” He’s peeking over my shoulder at my screen, where I’ve pulled up the nearest public beach, which just so happens to be on the _opposite_ side of the cape. “I mean, this whole place is like basically an island, I thought it’d be right there!” He actually points out our window, which faces inward toward some tennis courts, but I get the idea. And vehemently agree.

“What are we supposed to do now?” I grumble, flopping onto the mattress - my go-to solution when things are frustrating. Somehow, even a semi-comfortable hotel bed soothes my annoyance, and I turn my head to peek over at Phil. “Doesn’t this place have a pool?”

He physically perks up at the idea - like, actually properly straightens up from where he’d been hunched over, face contorted in thought - and he grabs my wrist to drag me up from the bed and toward the door.

“Wait, wait! Towels? Sunscreen?” I use his grip on my arm to tug him backward, and he stumbles to a stop, pouting at me over his shoulder. “Oh, don’t give me that look, you’re a _ghost_ , you’ll bake in the sun.” I tilt my head, quirking a brow and refusing to move until he relents and lets me go. I do quite miss the feeling of his hand on my wrist, though.

“Fine, but hurry, I want to enjoy the pool!” He shoos me to go get- well, I guess to get both the towels _and_ some sunscreen, since he’s clearly not bothered enough to move and get things himself. I make a point of shoving two of the extra bathroom towels at him to carry.

In less than a minute, we’re marching back down the hall and toward the entrance we’d come in before. It seems Phil’s got some sixth sense for pools, as he makes a sharp turn before we reach the buffet and we end up outside in a courtyard-like area similar to the one near our room. Except this one has a very large water feature.

“Yee!” Phil practically bounces on his toes, then heads toward the maze of lounge chairs to stake a claim. I don’t _love_ the outdoors, nor do I love being near a bunch of kids splashing around and generally being a bother, but Phil’s chosen a spot with an umbrella beside it and far from the shallow end of the pool. 

By the time I reach him, he’s already discarded his shirt and he makes some very childish grabby hands at me, apparently accepting that he’s got translucent skin and needs some SPF ten thousand to survive a day in Florida.

“Right, impatient,” I mumble under my breath, but it’s accompanied by a grin as I hand over the bottle. He wastes no time squirting some into his hand and applying it everywhere he can reach. I waste...well, _all_ of that time watching him do so. 

Until I get a flash of us at the beach, which seems a bit unfair given we’ve decided it’s too far - _guess this is a future that definitely won’t be happening, then_. And even _more_ unfair given he’s actually half naked in front of me _right now_ and I sort of want to watch _that_ show instead. Although the cool grip of water at my ankles and the warm grip of Phil’s hand in mine as we watch the sunset is actually pretty enticing.

“Dan, can you get my back?” I refocus, losing the spark of the moment in my head, but I don’t mind. I very much do not mind _at all_ , because Phil’s extended the bottle of sunscreen for me to take, and I do it on autopilot, squeezing probably a bit too much into my hand as I watch him turn around. 

Before I’m even aware it’s happening, my hands are on his back, spreading the cool cream across his shoulders and down his sides. I swallow thickly. _Oh my god, so this is a thing. This is actually a thing that’s really happening right now. Holy shit._ I _might_ take a little more time than necessary, smoothing my hands across spots that have already been well covered, but I can’t help it. _I’m actually touching him._

The whole thing feels utterly surreal on its own, but then I’m stepping back, reluctantly relinquishing the moment to the forces of time, and Phil turns around with a smile on his face. _I hope he’s gotten his face, it’s already turning a bit pink from the sun._

“Here, let me return the favor,” Phil offers, and my mouth drops open for half a second before I clamp it shut and hand over the bottle. _Yeah, I_ really _hope he didn’t notice that..._ I suck in a breath when the icy cold of the lotion hits my back, but it’s replaced almost immediately by a warm tingle as Phil’s hands rub across my skin. 

My body is ready to react in about six different and definitely _not acceptable_ ways, and I try to focus on the water lapping against the edge of the pool so I’m not overwhelmed. But _oh god_ , it feels amazing to have his hands on my back-

Not for the first time, apparently - or, I guess, _technically_ for the first time, but the first of many, based on my reaction in this flash of a possible future - as warm hands slide up my back, applying deep pressure into the muscles at my shoulder blades, and I’m all but melting into the mattress below me.

“Done!” Phil’s voice pulls me back again, and I can’t decide if that was worth disappearing into my head for. I’m still deciding when he comes around in front of me and hands over the sunscreen. “Hurry up!” He grins once I take it, then launches himself into the water. As I watch, a small smile creeps up my cheeks, which turns into a much larger smile, and I rush to cover the rest of my own - admittedly rather pale - skin so I can join him.


	11. Chapter 11

We’ve been messing around in the water for however long - long enough for the sun to climb well into the middle of the sky - but I can’t get the feeling of having my hands on him, from having _his_ hands on _me,_ from my mind. I want to touch him again, want him to touch me again. I try very hard not to make that obvious.

But we end up in a splash war, which turns into a sort of guerilla-style fight, and I won’t lie - I definitely took at least two opportunities to get my hands on him. Even if it was just for a second, and even if it was to shove him under the surface. Even though he comes back up sputtering and laughing and a lot farther away than I want him to be.

“Dan!” He whines, and I melt, maybe for the hundredth time, but I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing my name on his lips. I’m momentarily seized by the idea of how much I’d like to get a whole lot of other things on his lips. _Fuck…_ but I’ve let my guard down, apparently, because a second later I’m under the water myself, large warm hands pressing into my shoulders. I wish they’d do that with a bed behind me instead of the concrete floor of a pool, but I’ll take whatever the hell I can get.

I fully intend to be angry with Phil for a minute, mostly to try to get my thoughts going in _any_ other direction, but by the time I resurface, I’m laughing and chasing after where I just saw his black hair disappear through the arch of a strange rock structure.

“Phi-il?” I call as I push through the water, elongating his name into two syllables. “Come out, come out, wherever you-”

I’m cut off by arms wrapping around me, dragging me under and holding me very _very_ close against a warm chest. Fortunately, I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’ve gone below the surface, otherwise I’d definitely have sucked in a breath and that wouldn’t end well for anyone. As it stands, my heart’s pounding hard enough that I wonder if it’s not making its own tidal waves in the pool around us, and I keep thinking ‘ _okay, this next second, Phil’s going to let go. Okay,_ this _second_ ’, but the seconds arrive and pass by us and his arms are _still_ around me.

We must be floating up, or Phil’s pulled us, because we finally break the surface and I know for a _fact_ that I’m too shocked to have actually made any movement to that end. For a few tense moments, I don’t know if I should even open my eyes, because maybe that’s what’s keeping us suspended in this unreal moment where Phil _still_ hasn’t let go of me.

Eventually, I convince my eyes to blink open - and then blink a _few_ times, cause my arms are pinned to my sides and I can’t wipe the water away - to find Phil just watching me: black fringe hangs across his forehead in a way that I’m sure blocks his vision, but his eyes are wide and his lips have parted just slightly, and I imagine I could just lean forward and-

There’s a high-pitched screeching behind Phil, followed by a splash as some kid slides down the slide and lands in the pool, and that’s all it takes to break the moment - then Phil’s pulled away, glancing over his shoulder, and I purse my lips to try to hide my pout. _Had we been about to kiss? Or was I imagining that?_ Disappointment swirls in my gut as I take a step back. _Surely I was imagining it. I don’t get the happy endings, I just get to know they’re_ possibilities _, alternate futures I’ll never be lucky enough to experience._

“Um,” Phil clears his throat, turning back to me. There’s definitely a blush on his cheeks - _or a sunburn, probably just a sunburn_. “Do you want to maybe hop out for a bit? Dry off and then we can get some snacks or something?” He’s already drifting toward our chairs, though, so I offer a tight smile, a tighter nod, and follow him.

\------------------

There was a brief awkward spell during which we both sat and dried off in silence before Phil announced that he’d go grab a menu from the bar to see if there was anything worth snacking on. Then I was left by myself to lament my horrible misfortune at being so close to having something _fucking amazing_ and losing it in a single second.

“Okay,” Phil says as he wanders back over, scanning the menu with furrowed brows. “What do you think, calamari, or maybe a side of sweet potato fries to split?” He drops down on the edge of his lounge chair, and I sit up in mine so I can see the options.

Except they’re all bloody upside down, and he won’t turn the menu around.

“Give me that,” I tug it from his hand, but he doesn’t protest, and I end up holding the laminated paper between us at an angle that actually works for us both. “I’m too hot for anything fried right now,” I decide, ticking off the options as I go. _No, not fried shrimp either, what about-_ “Cheesy fries!” I point, then beam up at him. Although technically fries are still, uh, _fried_ , fries topped with melty gooey cheese and sour cream sounds ridiculously appetizing right now.

“No, no cheese!” Phil complains, and I watch his face morph into a pout. My eyebrows shoot up my forehead.

“You don’t like _cheese_?” _Maybe this whole falling-in-love thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, if he hates cheese..._ “I don’t think this is going to work out, Phil.” As soon as I say it, as soon as I have the thought, I realize how dumb that sounds, even to me. And I can be pretty dumb sometimes, admittedly. _I’d give up cheese for the rest of my damn life to end up with him, to have one of those futures I saw when we met._

He just sputters for a moment, though, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong. 

“It’s not _that_ great!” He finally decides on, crossing his arms - really, at this point, it’s not even my fault that my gaze goes to his chest. Which is when I notice it’s just a bit pink, and I doubt it has to do with my cheese-hater accusation.

“I saw a little shop at the front, maybe there are better snacks there?” I offer instead - I’m probably starting to burn as well, given we definitely haven’t taken any time to reapply sunscreen in the past...however long.

“Ooh!” He hops up, grinning as he gathers his shirt and towel and slips on his sandals. “Popcorn!” I huff out a breath of laughter before standing to follow him back inside; I mumble that it’s a bit bloody hot for _popcorn_ , but I doubt it makes it to his ears.


	12. Chapter 12

Somehow - and I’m still not even sure how - I managed to convince Phil that I should pay for the popcorn, since my parents are covering the room charge anyway. _Speaking of which, I should probably go see them at some point…_

I’ve let them know I’m here, but they’re a bit touristy and arrived a few days earlier, and apparently have an agenda full to the brim with sights to see and places to go. Shockingly, I’d opted out of the hiking tours around some of the nearby parks. But they’ll be at the hotel most of tomorrow, and of course for the wedding and the reception, so I send a quick text promising to stop by their room at some point before then.

I look up from my screen - oddly enough, it doesn’t really hold my attention the way it normally would - to find Phil crunching on another handful of popcorn on the bed. I already see at least four pieces that have escaped his mouth and are now in danger of being crushed to uncomfortable little bits that we’ll end up picking out of the sheets in the early hours of the morning.

“Phil! Don’t get it all over- oh, jesus,” I climb onto the bed, reaching for the popcorn I can see and trying to collect it all before it’s crushed. “And, hey, have you gone and eaten _half_ the bag already? We’ve been in the room for _five minutes_!” I realize I sound a bit outraged, but I’m only about a second from breaking into laughter, which does nothing for my chastising, but I’m not sure I care.

Phil, for his part, just mumbles something around his mouthful and I _think_ he grins at me, but it’s quite hard to tell. Before he can object, I grab the bag from his hands and pull it away.

“Rest is mine!” I declare, backing myself into the pillows by the headboard and dangling the bag well out of his reach. 

Or I guess I _thought_ it was well out of his reach, but apparently I should _not_ be getting between Phil and his food under any circumstances - a moment later, he’s coming at me, grabbing for the bag with an adorable pout that ends up a not-so-adorable distance away from my lips. This is about the time I’d imagine a record scratch, a complete freeze-frame, and a voiceover of myself saying ‘ _you’re probably wondering how I got myself into this…_ ’

The freezing part is accurate at least, and I feel like the ‘ _how I got myself into this_ ’ bit is pretty well explained at this point, but there’s actually quite a _lack_ of sound in the next few moments. Mostly just breathing. 

At first, Phil’s focused on the bag of popcorn, but his gaze drops to my face the moment his knee bumps mine - then we’re right back in the same position we were earlier in the pool, half naked and far too close, and _still_ not close enough. And then I swear on my fucking _life_ that I must be dreaming, because Phil’s _getting closer_. 

Right when I’m about to give into this fever dream or strangely realistic future vision or whatever this is and shut my eyes, he stops. Just fucking stops. 

“Please say something, if you don’t want this?” His voice is low and husky and a hell of a lot more than I can handle right now, so I wrap my free hand around the back of his neck to crush his lips against mine. _As if I wouldn’t want this, he’s out of his damn mind_.

For a second, it’s just a chaste kiss, like the ‘ _yes, I’ve done this before, nothing new here_ ’ kind of kissing, and I wonder if I’ve built it up in my head so much that reality is just a disappointment - wouldn’t be the first time. But then it _isn’t_. 

Phil’s hands find my chest and one pins me against the headboard while the other trails lightly down my side, and I suck in a breath when his lips move against mine, warm and at least as desperate as I suddenly feel. But I’m thoroughly compromised by a stupid bag of popcorn, or I’d- _oh, fuck it._

I let the bag fall to the bedside table, if the ensuing crinkly sound is anything to go by - at least I’ve not heard any tiny plunks from fallen pieces of popcorn. I don’t even bother looking, though.

Free of its obligation, my other hand finds the smooth skin of Phil’s back, and I make some move that I hope he figures out means to get his ass closer - well, not technically his _ass_ , though I’m all for that as well. Really, I’m just dying to have him pressed up against me, to entirely eliminate the space between us.

Briefly, I wonder if I’ll have to pull back from the kiss long enough to spell it out for him - he hasn’t moved, in spite of my pressure on his back, except to trace lightly across my body in a way that’s got me shivering. But he must get the message eventually, because then he’s stradling me, pinning me fully against the headboard and _fuck_ if it’s not the hottest position I’ve been in maybe _ever_.

So, of course, my fucking desperation has to go and ruin it, and I’m suddenly biting back a groan as my hips shift up into his - really, entirely of their own accord, I have nothing to do with the action. But I fully expect Phil to pull away, to realize he’s on top of a horny random stranger he only just met yesterday and run for the door. Because surely that’s what any normal person would do, right?

But he’s biting my lip, grinding down into me, and everything’s suddenly too hot and too much and _fuck_ I’m not even sure this is real anymore. 

It’s barely a movement, just a slight tug on his hair, but he’s immediately pulling back, giving me space, and I suck in a few deep breaths. For a second, I don’t open my eyes. Just focus on calming down, cooling down. _Jesus fucking christ._

“I’m sorry, was that okay? I should’ve-”

“No! No,” my eyes fly open now, surprised and a little pleased to find Phil looks just as flustered as I feel: bright red across his cheeks and down his chest, pupils blown wide, and I can absolutely see he’s breathing just as fast as I am. I try not to let my gaze drop much lower - if I don’t acknowledge that he’s got a situation down there, then I can pretend that I don’t have one either.

“No, that was, uh,” I try again, ultimately failing to come up with sufficient words, so I let out a soft chuckle and tip my head back against the wall. “ _Wow_ ,” I finally manage. Apparently, he takes this as his cue to settle back onto my lap, and I’ve no doubt he can feel how hard I am. 

“Well,” his voice has gone low and gravelly and a little teasing, “if that’s how you feel after a few minutes of making out…” he trails off, eyelids dropping low as he leans in; mine flutter shut, expecting his lips on mine, but they never come. “I can’t wait to see what you’d look like after…” _oh._ He’s whispering in my ear, a feeling I’d probably say I hate on principle, but he makes it sexy and seductive and _fuck, what does he mean ‘after’?_

And then, before I can ask, he’s pulled away and left me cold and wanting and maybe a little pouty. _That’s not fair!_ I tell him as much.

“What’s not fair?” He’s already rolled off the bed, standing over his suitcase as I frown at him. 

“You know exactly what, you twat,” I grumble, but even I can tell how little force there is behind my words because _holy shit, this is one of the futures._ Or it was, when he’d whispered in my ear and I’d just about died. _I probably wouldn’t have romanticized it so much if I knew what a tease he’d be afterward…_

But I’m still reeling - when was the last time, before this trip, that one of the good future possibilities had happened? I don’t think my memory stretches back far enough - the only memories that come to mind are the stupid, depressing timelines I’d seen and lived through. _That’s my life. How tragic._ But this many moments actually happening, all within the span of a day? 

“Well, I wasn’t planning on taking _another_ shower, but I’m feeling a bit…” Phil’s talking from somewhere in front of me, and his words filter into my head after a few moments. I try to process them in the silence he leaves open, though I can’t decide if I’m meant to assume he’s wanting to wash the chlorine and sunscreen off or that I should be hearing sexual undertones. I’m suddenly feeling very strongly it’s the latter.

The smirk Phil gives me as he heads toward the bathroom is all the confirmation I need.

Desperate, now, for any distraction to calm down the fire racing across my skin, I stand quickly from the bed with the intent of cleaning up the bits of popcorn that spilled from the bag. Apparently, they had, and I just hadn’t noticed. To be fair, I was otherwise occupied.

“Care to join me?” The voice sounds echoey and muffled from behind the mostly closed door, from behind the rumble of the stream of water that’s already on and sending steam out into the room, but I _abso-fucking-loutely_ understand him. My legs go wobbly underneath me.

 _Is there a way to say ‘fuck yes’ without sounding desperate?_ I decide probably not, and I don’t think my tongue would cooperate anyway, so I just make my way unsteadily toward the bathroom, pausing at the door to grip the frame for balance. And just to brace myself, because I damn well know what I’ll be seeing on the other side.


	13. Chapter 13

_Shitshitshitshitshit_ runs on repeat in my head for the first few seconds after I step through the door, then it all falls away. Literally _everything_ just disappears, and for the first time maybe in my _entire life_ , I’m so bloody absorbed in the present that I can’t think straight.

I mean, I knew exactly what I’d see - I saw it before, I saw this moment before - but it does absolutely nothing to prepare me: Phil’s already stood under the stream of water, trunks discarded somewhere I don’t bother looking for, and I don’t think I’m actually breathing. Slowly, like I’ll break the moment if I go too fast, I let my eyes travel down from his shoulders, past his chest - I’ve seen that, in real life, and touched it - lower, to the wide planes of his hips and _fuck-_

I think I make some kind of embarrassing choking noise in the back of my throat, and I do _not_ think the water covers it up. The things I would do to his cock - still stiff from our earlier makeout session - holy _shit._ And the things I’d let him do to me…

“Now I see what you mean,” Phil grumbles, and I tear my eyes away to look up at his face. I’m a bit dizzy, the warmth of the steam and the fact that I haven’t actually inhaled in the past minute probably contributing to that. I let out a hum, high-pitched and doing absolutely nothing to obscure how affected I am.

“Well, you said it wasn’t fair. This is _definitely_ unfair,” he pouts, actually _pouts_ at me, while he’s stood naked and hard in the shower and I don’t even think - I mean, if I _was_ ever even thinking - before stepping under the hot stream of water and pressing myself up against him, pressing our lips together, and letting my hands slide down his slick skin.

For a moment, he kisses back, and I can feel his lips pull tight with a smile, but then his hands find my hips and I realize I am very much _not_ naked, and _oh, that’s why this is unfair_ ; I still whine when he breaks the kiss to tug my trunks down. I then make a very concerted effort _not_ to whine when his hands trail lazily back up my legs, over my thighs and hips and-

I let out a soft ‘ _oh!_ ’ when my back hits the cold tile, and I realize belatedly that he’s spun me around, that his grip on my hips has tightened, that he’s holding me back against the wall and _fucking hell_ he’s grinding into me, delicious friction of our cocks sliding against each other making me whimper out a moan.

Phil catches it with his lips, pressing his mouth into mine with a desperation that makes my eyes fly wide before I melt into him, utterly ready to accept my fate - because, truly, this will kill me. The intensity of this will absolutely end me, and I’m totally fine with that; there are worse ways to go.

When his mouth disappears, I’m tempted to protest, to say something, but the only sound I make is a sharp gasp when his lips find my neck - no, _fuck_ , when his _teeth_ find my neck, biting and sucking and leaving what I’m sure will be a hell of an embarrassing hickey to explain but I don’t even care. The thought of him claiming me, that he might even _want_ to claim me, is driving me almost as mad as the pressure of his hips grinding into me.

As if he’s read my damn mind - _and I thought I was the one with a weird psychic-adjacent ability_ \- Phil’s hand disappears from my hip briefly to grip both of us, stroking far too slowly, far too languidly for how hot and intense I’m feeling right now.

“ _P-please,_ ” I stutter out, though I can’t even articulate what I want inside my head. It doesn’t matter, though, because Phil’s lips tighten against my neck - another smile, probably a smirk given how- _oh, fuck…_

For the next minute, or minutes, or however long that Phil’s enjoying his torture of my body, I can’t think. I can’t even open my damn eyes, I’m so lost to this. To him. _I should’ve bloody known I would be_. Although, technically, I _did_ know. I just refused to believe it was actually possible. Refused to believe I could feel this blissed out, refused to believe his hands and lips and body would be the cause of the tightening coil in my stomach, refused to believe-

“ _Fuck, fuck!_ ” I realize I’m properly yelling, and people in the next room can probably hear, and I don’t give a single flying fuck because I’m coming hard and fast and it’s infinitely better than I could’ve _imagined_ \- then Phil’s hips stutter, his hand fumbles around us, and he’s coming as well; he’s far quieter, though he gasps and groans into my shoulder and it’s just as hot as if he’d been as loud as I was.

For a few seconds, minutes, however long, we’re just breathing, warm water pelting down on us and probably turning our skin pruney. _Holy...fucking shit...that actually just happened. Not just a future possibility, like an actual real event that happened in this actual timeline in my real life._ I end up chuckling, then outright laughing, though my body feels weak and unsteady and I kind of want to just take a nap.

Phil’s giggling alongside me, shoulders shaking and head falling into the crook of my neck; somehow, even in comparison to what we just did, _this_ moment feels so much more intimate. Our laughter dissolves into the damp air around us, turns into slower, steadier breathing. I realize my arms have wrapped around Phil’s back, hanging loosely at his waist, though I literally have no memory of putting them there.

“We should, uh, properly clean up, I guess?” He says as he pulls back, damp hair messed up into all sorts of unusual spikes, and I don’t even think before reaching up to fix it. His eyes follow my fingers, flutter shut at the brief touch, then open a few beats after I’ve let my hand fall back to circle his waist.

“Right,” I agree, finally - the steam in the air must be weighing his words down, because it took them a while to reach my ears, to sort themselves out in my brain. But then he shifts against me, evidently to disentangle us, and I suck in a breath, unused to being so damn sensitive.

“Sorry! I’ll just- uh,” he frowns, finally pulling away enough to look around at the very limited shower space. “Do you want to-”

“Give me the shampoo, and come here, you spork,” I reach a hand around him, as he’s stood to face the shower head, then take the little bottle one it’s offered. “Duck your head,” I push it down for him though, gently, into the stream of water until I’m sure it’s soaked enough. In moments, I’m massaging the shampoo into his hair, absolutely _living_ for the way he leans back into my hands.

“Rinse,” I command, though I can’t even put any force into the words. Phil does as he’s told anyway. I can feel myself drifting, floating, just enjoying this warmth and domestic comfort. It’s...honestly, objectively, it’s a _lot_ , but I’m putting off mentally unpacking all of this for later, once my brain has prepared to deal with this. If it’s ever prepared to deal with this.

When we trade places, I nearly collapse - he hadn’t made a single sound, given any indication at how amazing this felt aside from pushing back into my hands, but I’ve always been...vocal. 

“If you keep making noises like that, we may have to go for round two,” Phil’s voice in my ear, close but not as close as it’d been before - probably due to the sudsy foam dripping down from my hair that’s probably well washed by now but Phil keeps going at anyway. 

“Is that a challenge?” Belatedly, I realize how sleepy my voice has gone, so it holds exactly none of the seductive tone I’d been going for. Phil just chuckles, then his hands disappear and he tilts me forward.

“Rinse off and we can take a nap, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, letting the warmth of the water wash over me. My eyes drift shut as the suds stream down my face, and it takes a momentus amount of effort to open them back up once I’m fully clean. 

The next few minutes float by in a bit of a dreamy way, almost like my future visions but not quite as interesting and much more orderly: Phil turning off the water, handing me a towel, I’m drying myself off - though my hair doesn’t get as much attention as it should - and sliding on a pair of pants that I’m not even sure I need because _hell,_ Phil’s seen me naked already, then I’m climbing under the duvet and curling up into a ball.

I think Phil says something behind me, something soft and sweet and that I’ll probably lament not hearing later, then I’m enveloped by warmth and I have a far easier time falling asleep than I had last night.


	14. Chapter 14

I wake to probably the _worst_ sound imaginable: a growling stomach.

Okay, okay, hyperbole, but still, it’s pretty damn annoying. And it’s mine. And I don’t want to move. It’s dark - pitch black, really - but I can _feel_ everything important. Namely Phil, who’s actually snuggled into my back, his arm draped over my waist and his slow breaths hitting my shoulder.

For a moment, I don’t dare move - I mean, I don’t _want_ to, but I make a very strong effort to stay still. But my stomach grumbles again, and there’s a slight shift behind me.

“Dan?” I want to dive into that voice, low and deep and saying _my name_ ; Phil’s arm moves a bit, and then he’s drawing small circles on my hip just above the top of my pants. I expect it to be erotic, but it’s not - admittedly, I’m probably still a bit exhausted from-

_Oh my god, that actually happened. Did it actually happen? Holy-_

“Did we, uhm,” I ask without asking, because what if it had been some crazy fantasy, or a really long, elaborate possible future? I’ve never actually had one that... _involved_ before, but it’s not like I can consult a doctor to diagnose this kind of thing. Phil’s hand freezes, and I can feel him tense against me.

“We did,” his tone is careful, a little tight, but I don’t even care. Nothing bloody _matters_ because _holy fucking shit this is...this could be possible. I could have one of those futures..._ Hell, I’ve already fucking _had_ a few of them…

I twist around, careful not to let his arm fall from my side, and snake a hand up between us, across his bare chest and up the smooth line of his neck until I’ve found his face. Look, it’s _really_ dark, and I have no intention of missing.

Based on the surprised hum from Phil the moment I lean forward to kiss him, I’d say he might’ve been worried I’d regretted things. _Oh my god, if he only knew..._ I try not to giggle as his grip tightens around my back and he pulls me closer. We stay in that tiny cocoon of warmth and comfort and skin on skin and lips on lips for awhile, until we’re both breathing a bit too fast and Phil takes that as his cue to draw back a bit.

“So, that was okay, then?” He asks, and I properly laugh now. 

“Yes, Phil, that was okay,” I’m tempted to leave it at that, leave the air light and full of banter, but I _can’t_. “That was...a lot more than just ‘okay’.” I don’t know if it’s serious enough, if it fully conveys the swirl of insane and unrealistic emotions in my chest, but I try very hard to make it do just that.

“Okay,” Phil agrees, but I can hear the note of incredulity, of understanding. At least, I hope it’s understanding. 

“What time is it?” I mumble, tilting my head forward to rest against his forehead. I’m all for the sort-of confessions, but letting them hang in the air between us is stressing me out more than I expected, and I’m hoping for a topic change.

Phil hums for a moment, then rolls away, and I hear some clacking that must mean he’s groping around his bedside table. I almost want to be annoyed that he’s left me, but his other hand is still laying between us, and he rolls back over a moment later. I do get properly annoyed, though, when he turns on the screen of his phone.

“Ah, fuck, alright, turn it-”

“Just after ten,” Phil interrupts my whining. The light disappears, leaving my vision spotty and my eyeballs burning a bit.

“At night?” I ask, which was, in retrospect, sort of a dumb question. But it’s already out of my mouth.

“Yeah, guess you were pretty tired,” he says, and I can hear the smile even though I’m fully blind now. 

“Oi, shut- well, didn’t _you_ sleep as well?” I retort, but it dawns on me that maybe he didn’t. _Maybe he just laid with me and held me while I slept._

“I drifted in and out, but you were definitely dead to the world,” he chuckles properly this time, but I don’t think he’s realized how _significant_ that is, that he’s done that. _He could’ve been doing anything in the whole world, and he chose to just...hold me. I wasn’t even_ awake _. I wasn’t even_ doing _anything…_

I’m suddenly very very glad for the darkness in the room - I think my stupid eyeballs are watering, and I don’t want to have to explain to Phil why that’s the case. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, still just as lighthearted as before. My stomach grumbles in response, which is just as well, as I don’t know that I could trust my stupid mouth to answer properly. “Alright, room service then?” I just hum in agreement, which seems satisfactory enough for Phil, and he rolls away from me yet again.

This time, I barely have a second to pull the duvet up over my head when the bedside lamp clicks on.

“ _Phil,_ ” I groan, wincing at the light that filters in through the cracks in my hastily-constructed shelter. “ _Warn_ me next time, yeah?” When my words come out, they sound stable and even and a bit annoyed, but most importantly _not shaky_ ; I blink a few times, mostly against the brightness even under the duvet, then smush my head into the pillow to wipe away the remaining not-actually-tears-thank-you-very-much. 

“Come on, you’ve slept for like, twenty hours in the past day,” he argues, then the duvet disappears and the yellowish light hits my eyes and it’s not _quite_ as bad as I was making it out to be - especially since it now offers me a perfect view of Phil with nothing but his pants on. _I’d almost forgotten about that..._ I’ll admit, I end up staring.

But Phil’s very thoroughly focused on the menu, some book thing flipped open and sat in his lap, so I just crawl over and settle behind him. Let my chin rest on his shoulder. It’s so _normal_ I’m tempted to just break into fucking tears again - I’m still having an impossible time processing that this is _real_. This is my actual, legitimate reality right now.

“I’m thinking burgers, I need something horrible and greasy,” Phil interrupts my thoughts with the exact tone of humor I needed to drag me from an impending spiral of emotion, and I nod. Which causes him to jerk away under my chin, and I realize that must’ve probably not been all that comfortable a feeling, to have a bony chin massaging into his shoulder.

My stomach growls again, and frankly, I feel like a bit of a mess.


	15. Chapter 15

Apparently, my feeling like a complete mess doesn’t deter Phil in the way I expected it would. Instead, he’s just grinning over his shoulder at me, the kind of fond smile that makes his eyes crinkle around the edges. Because I can - because this is real - I reach out and trace the crow’s feet, giving myself a moment to just appreciate that he’s here. Appreciate whatever the hell this is.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an old man, get your jokes out now, Howell,” he elbows me in the side, not hard, but I pull back; there’s a sort of disappointment behind his words that makes me pause.

“How old are you, actually, though?” The moment I ask, I realize it doesn’t even matter. The futures I want with him, the futures I’ve _seen_ , I want those regardless of trivial things like him being a bit older than me. But I don’t get the chance to say that - _how could I even begin to say that without scaring the hell out of him?_ \- before he’s tensed and leaning farther away from me.

“Sure you want to know the answer to that? Might scare you away,” there’s a beat of silence, then he’s forcing out a chuckle, and I watch the way his brows briefly scrunch together. His eyes flick between mine, obviously searching for something. I just shrug, because I’m still trying not to admit the borderline-obsessive levels of infatuation I feel for him or the fact that I’ve seen us together a dozen different ways already and every single one looks breathtakingly wonderful. _Yep, and I’m a complete fucking sap…_

“I’m thirty, like proper ‘in-my-thirties’ thirty,” he drops his gaze to the bed as he speaks, so he misses my shocked eyebrow raise - not shocked by his age, more shocked that he’s made such a big deal of it in his own head that he’s this embarrassed to admit it. I end up sputtering out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation - how could he think that something so inconsequential would be grounds for me jumping ship?

_Oh, right, because we met on a plane yesterday and we should technically be complete strangers…_

“I’m twenty-five, Phil, twenty-six in a month, calm down,” I manage to get my voice to sound moderately comforting, though I still want to break into another fit of giggles at the way his head whips up. 

“Really? I thought you were-” he breaks off mid-sentence, and I realize I’m the one frowning now.

“You thought I was _how old,_ Phil?” I draw the words out, hoping to convey my annoyance - I mean, I’ve always looked young, I guess, but I thought I’d finally outgrown the whole ‘looking way younger than I actually am’ thing. When he doesn’t respond, a sheepish grin tugging at his cheeks, I cross my arms and lean forward. I really hope I look more intimidating than I feel.

I must do a halfway decent job, because Phil squeaks and hops up from the bed, running round to where the phone is sat on the desk. Before I can properly bother him, he’s got the handset to his ear and is pressing a button on the dial pad. I’m left to fume in silence, frowning as menacingly as I can.

“Hi, hello, yes, uh, room service? For uh,” he covers the receiver, eyes widening at me. I briefly debate being a pain in the ass and not telling him what room we’re in, since he’s obviously forgotten, but that would mean no food. And my stomach is already very unhappy with me.

“One eighteen,” I sort of whisper, but I accompany it with an eye roll. He nods.

“One eighteen. Right. Can we get, uh, two burgers? And one with no cheese?” Another pointed glance in my direction.

“No onions,” I can feel my resolve crumbling - I mean, does it _really_ matter what age he thought I was? I’d just admitted to myself how little it mattered what _his_ actual age was, why should I even spare a passing concern for how old he’d _guessed_ I was?

“And the other with no onions. Actually, both without onions. Yeah, that’s all. Right, thank you! Thanks, bye- oh, and they hung up, okay,” Phil sets the phone down and pouts at me. “Said it may take up to half an hour.”

I make a very inhuman sound, possibly characterizable as a groan, before flopping back onto the bed. If I’m being honest, this is quite a good bed for flopping.

“I might actually _die_ if I don’t eat in the next five minutes!” I whine at the ceiling. Well, I’d meant to whine at the ceiling, but it’s shortly blocked by a Phil, staring down at me from where he’s come to stand beside the bed. Fringe hangs from his forehead, and I’m tempted to reach up and run my hand through it, but he’s stood up and I’m laying down and my arm’s long but not _that_ long.

“How about…” Phil trails off, disappearing from view. I bend my neck at an awkward angle to follow his progress around to the foot of the bed. “I keep you distracted until the food gets here?” His tone has dropped low, and there’s a smirk on his face; I barely nod before his hands settle on my knees, pushing my legs a bit farther apart. I suck in a breath, swallow thickly.

Before I even have a chance to process what’s happening, he’s crouched down and his lips have found the inside of my thigh; my ensuing exhale sounds more like a whimper than anything, but I don’t have the willpower to be embarrassed. I barely have the willpower to move.

 _Not that I’d even want to..._ he’s sucking and biting at the skin, slowly working his way closer and closer and honestly driving me mad each time he pulls away - at least once, he stops to fix me with a dark gaze, and then he’s bent back down, marking me up again; he’s taking his time, and the whole thing is the most amazing kind of torture. His tongue flicks out to soothe the spots he’s just bitten, and then he pauses, lets his breath tickle the hair right at the edge of my pants, and I wonder if he’s going to wait all fucking day or-

“ _Room service?_ ” The voice is followed by a few knocks, and I’m one bad second away from accidentally kneeing Phil in the face because _holy shit_ a half hour did not go by that quickly; on top of that, my heart rate has gone to the stratosphere, only in part due to the surprise of the food arriving, and my head’s all but spinning trying to drag everything back down to earth. 

“Just a second!” Phil calls from where he’s still situated between my legs, and he presses a quick kiss to one of the spots he’d left pink and marked before pulling away and digging around in his bag for some sweatpants and a shirt. By the time he’s dressed, I’ve managed at least to prop myself up on my elbows.

“If you’re not putting clothes on, at least get under the duvet,” he advises, brows lifting up when he notices I still haven’t moved. “The lady will see you! And I don’t think I want anyone else…” he pauses, then actually _licks his fucking lips_ , “I want to be the only one to see you like this.”

Then he’s turned, walked over to the door, and rested his hand on the handle. Before he can swing it wide, he peeks over his shoulder at me, and the look in his eye - possessiveness, maybe, but the sexiest kind - gets me moving, scrambling up near the pillows so I can tuck myself under the sheets.

Everything feels tense, my heart and breathing race, nerves tremble under my skin, and I can’t decide if I’m so desperate for the room service woman to hurry up and leave because I’m still hungry or because I want Phil to get back to whatever he’d been planning for me.


	16. Chapter 16

The food ends up winning out, but only because Phil refuses to resume his devouring of _me_ until he’s devoured his burger. Admittedly, my stomach thanks him.

Four bites in - two of which were way too large, but I’m _hungry_ , damn it - Phil leans into me and steals a fry from my plate. Which is absurd, because he has his _own_ fries on his _own_ plate.

“What are you _doing_ , those are mine! You literally have your own!” He’d crawled up onto the bed to sit beside me as we eat, though I’m still mostly covered by the duvet, which makes it quite a challenge to move out of his grasp. But he doesn’t stop, bending over me as I hold my plate halfway across the bed.

Out of nowhere, he stops and pulls back abruptly; at first, I’m suspicious - I mean, really, he’s just giving up? - but when I narrow my eyes at him, he’s just staring at my food like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“I mean, if you really want-”

“You’re left handed?” He sounds...almost offended by his own question, and his eyebrows scrunch together.

“Is there something wrong with that?” I ask carefully. My hand - the left one, as Phil so keenly pointed out - is a bit tired from holding the loaded plate up in the air, so I set it back in my lap; Phil seems to have other focuses besides my fries for the time being.

“No, I just- I didn’t know,” his tone is too even, too nonchalant, and I part my lips to say something, but he’s apparently not done. “I mean, we just met yesterday, but...”

“Sort of feels like we’ve known each other longer?” I offer a sympathetic smile - I have this amazing benefit of _knowing_ , of _seeing_ all the ways we’ll click, that we have such potential to fit together perfectly, but he’s just floundering.

“It feels like I should’ve known you were left handed.” Again, he sounds disappointed. I grab a particularly good-looking fry from my plate and stick it in front of his mouth. He looks a bit lost, glancing between me and the fry, but I just nod my approval; he opens wide, eating the fry in a single bite, and I smile when his face finally looks a bit lighter.

“That was a _really_ good one,” he mumbles around the aforementioned fry. I just laugh, because what can I say? It’s the one I would’ve gone for next. I’m just glad he’s not frowning anymore. 

And then the fucker just opens his mouth again, and I smack him on the arm before sighing and choosing another fry from my plate. I can’t help the grin that sneaks back up my cheeks, though. 

After a minute of this, he must decide he’s done stealing all my fries, because he picks his burger up and takes a bite; I do the same. Silence filters in around us, but the comfortable kind - I think it’s comfortable, it’s comfortable for _me_ , and he doesn’t look _uncomfortable_. I’ll admit, I can’t keep my eyes off him. And all he’s doing is bloody _eating_.

“Wha- have I got,” he rubs a hand across his chin, glances back at me, “something?” _Yeah, you’ve got my heart? And anything you want from me?_ But I just chuckle and shake my head, taking the last bite of my burger. Phil scrunches his eyebrows together, wipes at his chin again, then finishes his own food. A minute later, he’s collected both our plates and set them outside the door to be collected - I’d have helped, but I’m still a bit...underdressed.

“So what do you want to do, then?” He asks as he returns, and I’m reminded of the wonderful position we’d been in before our food arrived. But Phil flops back onto the bed beside me, jostling my stomach and its contents, and I’m suddenly feeling decidedly unsexy at the moment.

“Movie, maybe?” I suggest instead - although the promising direction we’d been heading in earlier had been tantalizing, I would much rather wait til I’m not full of grease and fries. We both glance around for a moment until I realize the remote is on my side, so I lean over and grumble a bit before getting a hold of it and clicking the TV on.

They’ve got loads of movies on demand - and some _other_ things, but I’m already committed to a non-sexy evening for now - so I flip through the page after page of options, waiting for something to catch my eye. Or Phil’s.

“What about-”

“Oh, wait!”

“Wait, you-”

“No, you go-”

“Okay, I’ll go, yeah?” I agree, or we’ll end up in a back and forth that’ll go on forever. He nods, grinning at me. “Right, Interstellar look good?” I’m not sure how to interpret the laughter that bubbles up from him, that has him leaning into me til his breaths come out against my bare shoulder.

“That’s what I was going to suggest,” he finally manages, after his giggles have subsided. He doesn’t move, though, and I don’t even think to ask him to. Instead, I click on the movie; a moment later, he’s joining me under the duvet. 

For thirty-odd minutes, Phil’s just leaned against me, paying rapt attention to the screen - I assume, because every time I glance down at him, he’s studiously focused on the film. But I’m getting less comfortable by the second, leaned up against the hard wood of the headboard, so I finally nudge his head off my shoulder. Which I regret immediately.

“Oh, sorry, hadn’t-”

“Phil, I’m just adjusting,” I stare as meaningfully as I can into the wide eyes that turn toward me, hoping to say lots of things without saying them. Saying them would be a bit cheesy, or creepy, or- well, we’ve known each other for a day. They’re things a person shouldn’t say to someone after only knowing them a day. 

My look must say enough, at least, for Phil’s expression to soften. He sits up beside me, and I really mean to just shift lower a bit, but I sort of end up laying down completely; the bed’s warm, I’m warm, Phil’s warm, it just feels comfy. And Phil actually follows me, sliding down until our heads are at the same level, right across from each other.

Then he leans in, closes the gap between us. It’s a slow, lazy kiss, but it’s stupidly exciting. It’s stupid that I’m excited about it. That it sends my heart racing. I can’t stop my smile, and Phil pulls back a moment later. I’m about to tell him to come back, that I’m not done with him yet - and wouldn’t _that_ be the suavest thing I’ve said all day - but he doesn’t really go far enough for me to complain.

Instead, he stays leaned against me so our foreheads are touching, and just stares at me with those damn beautiful blue eyes. _Fuck, I’m so gone for him..._ then his lips curl into a smile, and the action is so familiar and comforting, and _hell_ , I’m not even sure if it’s one of the flashes from the future or if I’m just so used to seeing his lips at this point. I’m not even sure I care.

“Tell me about you,” I’m almost startled when those lips move, when words fill the air in the tiny sliver of space between us. I actually laugh. 

“Well what do you want to know, then?” I keep my voice quiet, afraid of speaking too loudly even though the TV’s still on. For some reason, this feels like a whispering thing.

“Everything.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Ev- _Phil_ , you have to actually _ask_ me stuff, I don’t even know what to say!” Now my voice comes out a bit loud and maybe too high-pitched - I think he was trying to be sweet or something, but I’ve never been the best at actually _acknowledging_ sappy moments. _He wants to know everything about me?_ The thought sets me on fire in the best way.

“Alright, you’re left handed, anything else important I should know?” His breath is warm and burgery on my face but I honestly don’t care. Mine’s likely just as bad, and I have no intention of getting up right now to fix that.

“I don’t- I didn’t think being _left handed_ was a significant thing,” I grumble, closing my eyes. It shouldn’t really be embarrassing, I know, but I can feel my cheeks flush with warmth - warmth that doesn’t have anything to do with me literally being surrounded by warmth at the moment. “Besides,” I remember my little tidbit of information on him, “ _you’re_ the one who hates cheese!” It’s not meant to be accusatory - okay, only _sort of_ accusatory - but he looks genuinely taken aback.

“I said it before, it’s not that great! Plus _you_ , um, _you_ …” he trails off, apparently searching for something to get back at me. His eyes squint, and he would almost look mad, but I can see the corner of his lip tugging up in a grin that he’s failing to hide. “You! You’re forgetful!” I bark out a laugh.

“I’m forgetful, am I? And why’s that?” I can’t even think of-

“The room key, your phone, uh…” I had been about to relent - I can, on occasion, be a bit forgetful. But then he ruined his argument by only having two points, so…

“You’re obsessed with food,” I quirk my brows at him, and he pulls back a bit further.

“Only _good_ food!” He’s trying very hard to look annoyed, but he’s also smiling and it’s sort of ruining the whole attempt. Granted, my cheeks actually hurt from grinning, so I can’t really blame him.

“Well _you_ fall asleep on random strangers on planes!” His eyes light up as he speaks, clearly pleasantly surprised at his own retort. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then blink them open.

“Yeah, but you _let_ a stranger fall asleep on you, so what does that say about you, mate?” I realize what a pathetic argument it is, if we could even classify this as us ‘arguing’, but I’m suddenly a bit terrified I might slip into the things I’m not supposed to know about him, the things I’ve seen happening. That he likes nutella on his pancakes. That he’s been gentle with me so far but _fuck_ he can be rough - and it’s a hell of a turn-on. That he gives _amazing_ massages. Those things...they’re not things I can say.

“Well it was a _cute_ stranger, so it says I’m pretty smart, I reckon,” he leans forward again, bumping our noses together, and my blush deepens - I swear, I’ll probably internally combust if he keeps this up.

“Yeah, well, I picked a cute stranger to fall asleep on, so…” I’m not even sure where my sentence is going, what I’m implying, if there’s even a point, but it doesn’t seem to matter - Phil just chuckles and presses a quick kiss to my lips. When he pulls away, at least, his cheeks have turned a light shade of pink, so I guess we’re somewhat even.

“I’m serious though,” he says after a moment, and his voice sounds exactly that - low and serious, but not ‘ _this is a serious conversation_ ’ serious, more ‘ _I really care about this conversation_ ’ serious. I duck my head and hide in the crook of his neck. “I do want to know about you. I really, uhm, really like you. What I do know about you, anyway.” I stay quiet, feeling the way his neck vibrates against me as he talks.

“I could be a cannibal, for all you know,” I argue into his shoulder, “you shouldn’t say you like me if you don’t know me.” But my voice is tight and a little sour, so I jokingly bite into his neck for some added levity. I’m rewarded with a soft laugh, though I don’t really feel any lighter. Mostly just scared. _What if he doesn’t like me, though? Or he just likes who he thinks I am?_

“Well I hope not, I don’t know if I could date a cannibal.” He’s talking basically at the air above me, but it doesn’t stop me from tensing at his words. _He wants to...to date me? Like, properly date me? He barely-_

“Sorry, _date_?” I actually pull back this time - surely he’s just joking, he can’t possibly want anything to come of whatever this is. _Surely I am not this lucky._

“I, uh- oh, I did say...yeah, I mean, I don’t want to pressure- uh, yeah?” Now he’s as flustered as I am, which is only fair, but I think I’m still just staring, wide-eyed and with my jaw hinged open. “I mean, obviously not if you don’t-”

My brain finally processes whatever nonsense is coming in my ears, because he wants to fucking _date_ me, he wants this to be a _thing_ , and I lean forward to crush my lips against his - I mean, how else am I supposed to stop his rambling? Not like I’ve got the air in my lungs for words.

He hums in surprise against my lips, but melts against me a moment later - and it’s nice, honestly, to know I have some effect on him instead of feeling like he’s the one driving me wild all the time. His hands slide up my back, across my skin, and I shiver in his arms. My hands, however, are very disappointed to find Phil’s fully clothed, and they tug at the hem of his shirt impatiently.

Then he pulls back, which seems very unfair, and giggles as he struggles to pull his shirt over his head.

“So I guess that’s okay with you?” He asks the moment he leans back in. My answer - which I hope is pretty damn obvious - comes in the form of a hum as I push him back into the mattress the moment he’s free of his shirt before climbing on his lap to kiss him. He’s been the one in control - both in the present and in all the future visions I had - and I’m feeling a bit like evening the score. I suddenly feel obligated to _show_ him just how much I want this. Just how much he should want me. Even though _he’s_ the one who’d asked _me_.

For a second, I pull back, just to properly see him laid out beneath me, and it’s intoxicating: I watch his chest rise and fall just a bit too fast, and my eyes wander down to where his hips disappear below mine. As if on cue, he rolls them up into me, a slow, careful movement, and it’s... _fuck_ it’s a lot, but I’m full of burger and fries and I still don’t think that direction would be the best idea right now.

Not for _me_ , anyway…

I scoot back, down farther onto his thighs, and pin his hips to the bed. Then I lean over slowly, watching his face, watching for that moment- _that one_. I grin as his eyes go wide, just about the same time I allow my lips to graze his stomach, to plant light kisses and work my way lower and lower; I don’t stop until I’ve hit the edge of his sweatpants, and my hands adjust their position to hook my fingers under the hem.

I can see the second his chest expands, the second he sucks in a breath, and I wait for his very small, very eager nod before...well, before being a complete tease. Instead of freeing his already-hardening cock, I take my time at the edge of his pants, letting my tongue dip below the fabric. I am absolutely fucking _living_ for the way his muscles tense at every movement.

“ _Dan_.” His voice has gone low, gravelly, and commanding, and I decide I’ve tested my luck enough for now. _If he has his way, if we start dating...I’ll have plenty of time to be a proper tease_. The thought of that future is exhilarating, even as I - very much in the present - have his cock not two layers of clothing from my face.

 _And now no layers,_ I think as I tug at both his pants and sweatpants - even I’m starting to get impatient with myself, although it might be worth it if I get to hear that demanding tone from Phil again...once I have his pants down to his thighs, I wait, hovering over him and letting my breath warm his exposed skin.

For a moment, it’s completely silent aside from my heartbeat racing in my ears and my slow but definitely-not-steady breathing - even the movie seems inclined to stay quiet.

“ _Dan._ ” Now it’s a warning, and I smirk at his twitching cock before licking a stripe from the base up to the head in one ridiculously smooth motion that I’m rather proud of. The ensuing gasp from the owner of said cock is a bonus. 

A part of me is desperate to take my time, to tease out more of the rough and dominating side of Phil, but I’m also undeniably anxious to get my mouth on him; I’m still not entirely sure this isn’t some crazy vision, so I’m trying not to take things for granted. Before he can say - or _do_ \- anything more, I take the head of his cock in my mouth and swirl my tongue around the tip. Which earns me a proper moan, and I want to smirk but my lips are a bit preoccupied.

I start slow, as slowly as I think I can get away with, eliciting all kinds of fantastic noises from Phil’s mouth that honestly make me rethink my stance on not getting into anything myself...especially when his hand winds into my hair and grips it tight; there’s no pressure behind it, but his hips roll up beneath me and I don’t make an effort to pull my head back, letting his tip nudge the back of my throat.

The _sounds_ though, jesus fucking christ, they might well be enough to get me off entirely on their own - between that and Phil’s hand in my hair, it’s all I can do not to grind down into his leg under me. Actually, I end up doing that anyway, just to relieve some pressure, and it might be the best decision I’ve made all night: I end up moaning with my mouth around Phil - so sue me, I’m vocal - and _he_ moans, grips my hair tighter, thrusts a little harder into my throat. I could die right then, I think.

“ _Dan, fuck, I’m-_ ” I get the idea, even though he doesn’t manage to finish. Well, finish his sentence, anyway. He tugs at my hair, evidently thinking to pull me off, but I’ve already decided I have no intention of moving; I drop down until I've taken him as deep as I can, and his hips stutter, his hand tightens to the point of pain - the edgy, pleasure-pain, though - and I think we both end up shuddering as hot cum hits the back of my throat.

Slowly, I work him through his high, reveling in the gasps and grunts and trembling muscles underneath me. I’ll admit, I’ve never been adept at swallowing, so there’s quite a mess as he finally exhales, relaxes back into the mattress, and I pull off him, wiping at the cum that’s dripped from my lips.

“That was…” Phil starts, voice shaky and breathy. He inhales, exhales; I watch his face, the way his eyes drift shut. “That was not at all how I expected that conversation to go.” I might be worried if not for the smirk that tugs at his lips.


	18. Chapter 18

“How did you expect it to go, then?” I realize my voice is some horrible combination of hoarse and trying to sound sexy, and I’m pretty sure I’m not at all pulling it off, but I crawl up Phil’s mostly naked body and settle myself on his stomach, careful to avoid what’ll be his very oversensitive cock.

He just lets out a breathy laugh, trails a shaky hand across my shoulder and down my arm.

“I’m not disappointed,” he clarifies - I _knew_ , but it’s still nice to hear it. “But I wasn’t saying it to get anything from you, I just-”

“You want to know _everything about me_ ,” I emphasize, trying to smirk and probably failing; I want to know everything about him, too, the things I don’t know _and_ the things I already do - I can’t very well _tell_ him about the latter.

“Yeah, I do,” he opens his arms wide, and I don’t even think before collapsing into them, curling up against his side. His hand finds my hair, strokes through it gently. I watch the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing evens out. “Tell me something, anything,” he asks, and _god_ , I’d do whatever he asked for the rest of eternity. Except my brain doesn’t want to comply.

“Um, I don’t know,” I fumble, trying to distract us both by drawing small shapes on the side of his chest. “I mean, I guess you know I live in London?” Maybe I can build on what he already knows, give myself a starting point. I want to give him what he wants - belatedly, I realize my whole five seconds of pretending to be dominant earlier had sort of just ended with me desperate to please him, even now. _And I’m more than okay with that…_

“Well I assumed so, but you could’ve been from well outside London and just passing through the airport,” he tilts his head into mine, fingers still combing through my hair. It’s such a calming sensation, I’m tempted to close my eyes, but then I might fall asleep - I’m not ready to, not yet.

“I live in London proper, not far off Hyde Park and all that. What about you? North?” I assume, based on his accent, that he’d just been flying through London as he suggested. _There goes that fairytale romance, I guess._

“Nah, BBC1 has me in London, it’s easier that way.” I don’t have to look to hear the smile in his voice. I’m sure he can feel the way my cheek digs into his shoulder, I’m grinning so damn hard.

“Oh,” is all I manage to say, though. Always articulate when it matters most.

“Yeah, guess that’ll make taking you out on dates a lot easier, then,” he chuckles, and I swear my heart about bursts out of my chest - it’s not exactly news, given that he said he wanted to date me before, but...reassurance is nice. It’s really fucking nice. My face hurts from grinning, and I make a point of snuggling closer into his side. A part of my brain keeps worrying - maybe it’s just a vision, or there’s a time limit to all this, or that I’m allotted a certain amount of happiness and I’m using it all up far too quickly.

But Phil’s arm just tightens around me and I can’t be bothered to care. 

“Oh, uh, did you...want me to, uh-” Phil breaks off, then, and tilts away. I look up to find his eyes glancing between me and- _oh_. 

“Later?” I’m feeling stupidly cuddly and fluffy right now, in spite of the tightness in my pants; I’m too full of the idea that this could actually _be_ something, and also full from dinner. “Sleep?” I mumble, rolling over to close the space between us until I’m face-down in the pillow by the crook of his neck, an arm flopped across his bare chest.

“Alright,” he giggles, and it shakes my shoulder. “Can I clean up first?” With a groan and an absurd amount of effort, I relent and let him climb out from under me. Okay, maybe not so much effort on my part. But I’m content and sleepy and my eyes sort of want to shut, and I want him next to me before I drift off.

After a very challenging battle, I decide I can still keep myself awake even with my eyes closed. _Just til Phil gets back._ The sink faucet turns on, then off, then it’s quiet for a moment. I do my best to focus on what I can hear, hoping it’ll keep me from succumbing.

There are a few more sounds that all sort of blur together, but then there’s a dip in the bed and a warm presence tucking itself back under me, and I end up grinning into the pillow in spite of the effort it requires to do so. 

“Night, Dan,” Phil’s voice in my ear, and he presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. I feel a bit like a princess in a fairytale and I am _here for it_. 

“Night,” I mumble back, hoping he’s already turned off the light so he can’t see what I’m sure is an obvious blush coloring the spot his lips just pulled away from - of all the things we’ve done in the past twenty-four hours, a simple kiss shouldn’t have such an effect on me. For a few moments, I wonder if this won’t be just like last night - my brain wired and keeping me awake, anxious at the very thought of having Phil beside me. 

\--------------------------

Apparently, that’s not the case at all - quite the opposite, it seems. Those few moments were all it took for me to drift off, and I’m fairly certain I’ve never slept better in my entire damn life. 

When I wake, it’s to a soft light shining in through the cracks between the curtains, and it seems I’ve turned to face away from Phil at some point in the night. Not that it mattered, as he’s still curled around me, and I’m sort of loving being the little spoon. Possessed by a strange urge, I wiggle back into his arms, maybe in some impossible attempt to get even closer.

“Dan?” For the briefest moment, I’m worried we’ll repeat yesterday morning’s horrible wake-up call - Phil freaking out, nearly shoving me away, and pretending none of this had ever happened. My heart skips a beat in my chest.

“Morning,” I mumble, though it comes out tight and not nearly as calm and comfortable as it might have sounded a minute ago. _Oh god, this is it…_

“Mm, morning,” I can hear the smile in his sleepy voice, and relief floods through me at the way his arms tighten around me, apparently seized by the same need to get closer that I’d felt not a second before he woke up. I let my eyes shut and exhale slowly.

I’m not sure how long we lay there, just finding comfort in each other’s company for a bit, but we soon find...other things to occupy us. Phil’s hands travel across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, just across my arms at first. Then my sides, my chest, and I _know_ he grazed my nipple on purpose; my breath hitches.

That’s clearly the turning point for him, as his hands begin drifting lower and lower, just teasing the edge of my pants before coming back up, playing at innocence long enough to try to trick my heart and lungs and my whole damn body into calming down. I keep falling for it. By the time he’s gotten his fingers dipping under the waistband, I’m all but hyperventilating with how strung out he’s got me.

“ _Fuck_ , Phil,” we haven’t said anything since our good-mornings, not a word throughout this little game, but I’m sort of _dying_ now, and I wish he’d just-

“You said ‘later’,” _god_ , his voice is low and gravelly in my ear, and I think he’s very purposefully assaulting my nipple at the same time, so I end up biting my lip against a moan.

“ _Fu_ \- yeah, yeah, I did,” I nod, too, as if that’ll somehow release a bit of the tension now pulling at my every damn muscle and tightening a coil in my stomach. This time, when his fingers slip below fabric, they don’t come back up; Phil traces a finger along the length of my cock a moment later, which is throbbing and basically begging to be touched - rather, _I’m_ the one begging him to touch it, touch it _properly_ , but my brain isn’t quite thinking straight enough to turn that request into words. It doesn’t matter, though, because then he wraps a hand around me, stroking slowly, sliding his thumb across the slit, and _fuck_ I’m so wound up that this might be all it takes to send me over the edge.

“Ph- _Ph-ahh, fuck_ ,” his name turns into a moan on my lips, then _his_ lips have me moaning again the moment they find my skin - he’s sucking and biting at my shoulder, working his way slowly across and up my neck as his hand continues its lazy stroking of my cock. Really, _really_ , it shouldn’t be enough to get me off, but…

“ _Fuck_ , Phil, I’m close,” everything, _everything_ is clenching tight as his tongue swipes over a spot he just sunk his teeth into, as he moves just a little faster, and I don’t even realize it at first but I’m bucking my hips into his hand, chasing the high, and-

I’ll be honest, I have no idea which obscenities slip from my lips in the moment I come, but I am absolutely certain Phil’s name is among them, and I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or not. If I even have the mental, emotional, or physical capacity to be embarrassed, given the way everything is trembling. _Fuck_ , Phil’s hand is still stroking my cock, too - slowly, languidly - and his lips haven’t left my neck. 

After what feels like forever, I sag back against him, bliss turning my muscles to jelly and making me exhale shakily. He extracts his hand carefully from my pants, and I can’t even be bothered to cringe at the warm wetness now pressed up against my skin.

“That was…” again, all I manage is to blow out another unsteady breath. I almost feel like giggling, like breaking down into a proper fit of laughter, for no reason other than _holy shit, this is still very much actually happening._

“Good?” Phil’s voice in my ear again, no longer pressing gentle kisses to each of the spots he’s surely marked up. Behind the confidence, the sexy tone, is a layer of uncertainty - one I intend to rectify immediately.

“Uh, yeah, given I’m literally speechless, I’d say so,” I do chuckle now, but it doesn’t turn into the insane ‘ _is this real life?_ ’ kind, which I count as a win. Before he can get it in his head that I might be joking, or lying - _as if I’d ever_ \- I shift around until I’m facing him and lean in for a kiss, intent on showing him just how much I enjoyed that.

The way his lips tighten into a smile against mine tells me I’ve proven my point quite well.


	19. Chapter 19

“Alright then,” Phil giggles once we manage to break apart again - which, to be fair, takes several minutes. Neither of us rushes to move, though, and I let the warmth and blissed-out comfort lull me into a half-asleep state. Phil’s thumb rubs my arm, and I feel like I’m in a trance, where the small circles he’s making are the only indicators any time has passed.

“You don’t need to be anywhere yet, right?” Phil’s lips must be in my hair because that’s where I feel them moving, that’s where the tickling sensation comes from when he speaks, and I manage to float back to reality for a while. 

“Mm, depends on the time?” I’m surprised how clear my voice comes out - still a little sleep-affected, sure, but intelligible, which is a small victory. Phil shifts around, and my cocoon of warmth disappears momentarily; my face scrunches up, though I’m sure he’s just looking for his phone, but I haven’t yet found the willpower to open my eyes and see for myself.

Then he’s back, and my entire body relaxes into him.

“Just after eleven,” he says, and I can hear him waiting for me to determine if I need to go. _Technically, the wedding isn’t even til four, then the reception at six, so…_

“Nowhere for ages,” I answer, my lips curling into a soft smile - _wait, didn’t I have something to do before-_ “Oh! At some point, I have to stop by and say hello to my parents,” I amend, but there’s plenty of time. _We have all the time in the world._ For some reason, that thought is utterly hilarious to me, and a giggle bursts from my lips before I can stop it.

“Something about that funny?” Phil’s voice is all confusion, so I finally open one eye to squint at him. His face is all confusion as well, scrunched brows and a slight frown - it almost makes him look a bit sad, so I immediately blink both eyes open and do my best to be as present as possible. _I never want to see you sad._

“No, just- actually, I should probably head over to check in with them sooner rather than later,” I decide, feeling a little more awake. Phil just tilts his head into the pillow before lifting his arm so I’m no longer trapped against him, and I crawl out-

“ _Eugh_ , fuck,” I grumble as I stand. Everything is a sticky, gross mess. _Well worth it, though_. Even as I sort of waddle over to the bathroom, I can’t help the smile that creeps up my cheeks. 

\---------------

“I’ll meet you by the pool in a bit?” I call from the door - Phil’s finally gotten up, and had immediately taken my place in the bathroom. I’m hoping this won’t take long, as I really only plan on popping by long enough to say ‘ _yep, arrived fine, didn’t die on the flight over, see you at the wedding_ ’. Then I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon with Phil. 

I feel stupidly giddy, like a kid with a crush. I guess I _do_ have a crush, but I’m an adult, damn it. I shouldn’t feel _this_ affected.

“Can’t wait!” His voice echoes back at me, bouncing off the various walls, and my face may erupt into a grin. My heart might leap out of my chest. Maybe I don’t mind being so smitten. 

I let the door close behind me, immediately patting the pocket of my trunks for the room key - _hah, didn’t forget it this time_ \- before setting off in what I’m _almost_ certain is the right direction. Which, of course, is how I end up walking through pretty much the entire hotel searching for room three-oh-five, and frankly I think I’ve had my damn exercise for the whole _week_ by the time I lift a hand to knock on the door.

My mum opens it, looking well tanned from the time she’s very obviously spent outside, and she pulls me into a hug before I can say anything - it’s quick, though, and she releases me a moment later.

“Oh, dear, what happened?” The corners of her lips tug down in a frown, and her fingers find my chin, tilting it to the side to get a better look at my neck. At the marks I’m only just now remembering exist. My mouth drops open, begging my brain for anything, _anything_ I can say to make this conversation disappear.

“Bugs?” I offer, and I hate that it sounds like a question. But my options are very limited, and I’m not even sure _that_ excuse will suffice. For a moment, she squints at the marks, the reminders of everything I have waiting for me once I check this box and satisfy my mum’s and dad’s parental needs. “But _anyway_ , everything went fine, flight was good, I’m going to go hang out by the pool for a bit, see-”

“Oh, honey, are you sure that’s a good idea? With the bites?” I nearly choke on my own spit as she glances down at my neck again, worry clear in the way her brows scrunch together. Bug _bites, she means_ bug _bites_. I have to force myself to breathe, which ends up being more of a cough that I attempt to turn into clearing my throat. I probably fail.

“Yeah, got some bug spray, thanks,” I’m about to whirl around, wave a hand over my shoulder and disappear before I can completely combust from embarrassment when my dad appears at the door as well.

“Hey son, got bit, did you?” He lays a hand on my mum’s shoulder, lets out a gruff laugh. I force a tight grin - my parents and I, we’re close enough, but I’m not about to give them a run-down of the past twenty-four hours. They stopped humoring my ‘imagination’ ages ago, and I stopped trying to convince them otherwise. Also, they definitely do _not_ need any details on my sex life.

 _Holy fucking shit, I actually have a sex life!_ My face must very obviously show how thrilling a concept that is, as my mum jumps back in.

“Well, you look anxious to get on to the pool, don’t let us keep you! We’ll see you at the wedding later, and you’ll have to tell us how work is going, as well!” _Ah, yes, a sex life and no fucking job…_ “I’m amazed they gave you time off on such short notice,” she just keeps on grinning, right through her whole speech, completely unaware of how quickly she’s flipped my mood on its head.

“Yeah, right,” I mumble, already chewing on my lip - a shit nervous habit that I can’t break, can’t be bothered to, even when it leaves my lips chapped and raw. Before I have to listen to any more commentary on my ‘job’, I mutter some kind of farewell and speed-walk off down the hall. I’m not even sure which direction I’m going, or if it’s the right one, but I just need to _get the fuck out_.

After about ten minutes of angry stomping that slowly devolves into frustrated marching and finally purposeless wandering, I end up back at room one-eighteen. Which isn’t really where I’d meant to go, but here I am, and I feel low and weird and I don’t know that I really want to see Phil just yet - rather, I don’t know that I want _him_ to see _me_ like this.

 _Well, I did just tell him I’d be down by the pool ‘later’..._ With that in mind, I scan my keycard and push into the room. It’s dark, curtains still drawn from earlier, so I flop down on the mattress and stare into the pillowcase like it’ll somehow be able to fix me.

It’s odd when these flashes of the future come - not because they’re unusual in their own right, but because I’m just realizing that, in spite of the absolute rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been riding for the past day, I really haven’t had _any_ flashes. Not since... _Phil_.

These possibilities _suck_ though, nowhere near as lovely as the ones I’d had of Phil. The first is the bright - or maybe it just _seems_ bright - yellow slip of paper tacked onto my apartment door, ugly red letters staring back at me, telling me I’ve got a month to pack up and get out. _Guess that’s what you get when you have no job and no way to pay rent..._ Then a sofa - not mine - I’m slumped back on it, staring blankly at something on TV with my laptop burning a hole in my lap. _Sure, a reminder of how lazy I am, and apparently how I’ll be couch-surfing once I’m kicked out of my flat._

The last flash, at least, is more mundane: just me, sat in an unfamiliar apartment, spooning some cereal into my mouth. I’ve just crunched a bite, and the stinging sensation still sits in my mouth. _Cereal, that I can handle._ Though I’m very suddenly and desperately wishing to see some futures with Phil again. 

Objectively, given my life experiences thus far, I know that none of these visions mutually excludes another - I could, maybe, _possibly_ still have Phil _and_ one of these less savory futures. I just...usually don’t get lucky enough for things like that. Subjectively, I’m very much accepting that my life is a failure, I’m destined to be alone, Phil will leave for some reason or other- _hell, maybe he’ll leave because I’m just laying here on the mattress instead of actually spending time with him…_

With a groan and _far_ too much effort for my emotionally exhausted brain to really be expected to put forward, I push up from the bed and exhale a heavy sigh at the door. _Here goes, I guess. Phil’s worth it. A future with Phil, that’s worth all the bloody effort in the world._


	20. Chapter 20

“Phil?” He’s taken the same two chairs we had yesterday, out of the way and partly blocked from the sun; he looks like he’s fallen asleep. I don’t need any kind of future vision to see how that ends: bright red skin, burnt from the sun, and a whining Phil that I can’t even touch.

Before he has a chance to speak, I grab the nearby umbrella and shift it so it’s cast his chair completely in shade. Apparently, that’s all it takes to properly wake him.

“Dan!” His whole face lights up when he squints his eyes open at me - squints, even though the sun isn’t shining down on him any longer - and it makes my heart skip a beat. “I thought you’d ditched me, you took _ages_!” And now my heart sinks like the fucking Titanic, because I sort of had - not for long, but…

“Yeah, sorry, just got...uh, a bit hung up, with my parents,” it’s not a lie. Not fully. Phil must see something in my face - maybe a frown, though I’m trying to keep everything neutral.

“Did something happen?” He sits up and wraps his arms around his knees, looking twice as alert as he had a moment ago; even from where I’m stood, sort of across by the other chair, I can see the way his brows scrunch slightly and his lips tug down at the corners.

 _No_ , I want to say, _everything’s fine!_ I want to break out in an uncharacteristically bright grin and drop down onto my chair and lay back like my life is perfect and I’ve not got a worry in the damn world. I exhale a shaky breath instead, lowering my gaze to the concrete below my sandals. _Great, now he’s going to fucking see me cry...yep, this’ll be the moment he runs for the hills, I’m sure._ I do my best, but I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. They don’t spill over, I’ve got that much control at least, but I doubt they escape Phil’s notice.

“Come here,” I look up to find he’s scooted over to one side of his chair - which is a very precarious position in and of itself, given how liable these things are to tip - but his arms are flung wide and I don’t even think before walking around past my chair and dropping into the space beside him; a moment later, I’ve buried my face in his shoulder.

I don’t actually cry, thank fuck, but I do let him lean us both back against the reclined bit of the chair, and I end up sort of sniffling into his bare chest. I hate that it’s getting to me, having to face my parents and admit I’m a failure _again_. Hate that I’ll clearly _continue_ to be a failure, given the possibilities I saw. Hate that I care so damn much, even though it’s not the first time I’ve had bad futures tossed at me. Hate that I’m just accepting defeat, that I know how much my life sucks.

 _Only it doesn’t, though, not right now._ Phil’s running a hand over my arm, gentle and soothing, and I take a deep, steadying breath. 

“Sorry, I just- they asked about my job, I sort of panicked,” I admit, and the comforting motion stops. Phil sits up a bit, staring down at me with pursed lips and an almost-smile.

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” his cheek tugs up just a bit more. “But don’t let it get to you, I’m sure you’ll find something soon, and it’s not the end of the world if you don’t,” his eyes unfocus for a moment, then he chews on his lip, and I wonder if he’s lost in his own head. 

“Besides! You never know what the future holds,” his attention turns back to me, eyes and grin bright now, and I snort out a sardonic laugh. _Don’t I, though?_ Admittedly, I don’t ever know _which_ of those futures is the one that’ll happen. If any. _Maybe I’ll get lucky, and get stuck with the cereal one._ My stomach grumbles, apparently craving said cereal.

“Have you eaten?” Phil asks before I even get the chance - _he can definitely read minds, then_ , I decide with a smirk, even though I don’t really believe it. Which is a bit counterintuitive, given what I’m capable of, but I’ll believe it when I’ve got the proof. _Clearly just coincidences and basic observation skills on his part._

“I haven’t, can we get something?” I’m still curled into Phil’s chest, and I suddenly feel too warm - granted, it’s the middle of the day in Florida and I’m still fully clothed, so…

Phil presses a quick kiss to the top of my head, then carefully extracts himself and stands, only nearly falling flat on his ass once when he steps on his shoe instead of the ground. I’m pleased to find my mood’s already improved significantly. _Shit, I need to keep Phil around twenty-four seven if he can prevent me having shit visions of the future, if he can flip my mood around this quickly._

By the time he returns, familiar plasticky menu in hand, I’ve discarded my shirt and laid out a bit more comfortably on his chair. 

“Oi, scoot,” he nudges my hip as he sits, and I lean forward beside him to scan the menu. As if anything’s changed on it in a day, which it very much hasn’t.

“Cheesy fries?” I poke him with my elbow, and he turns to glare at me over his shoulder. I know I’m sporting the best kind of shit-eating grin, but I don’t expect it to actually make him laugh. _I’ll never tire of hearing that sound. Of being the cause of it._ “Just joking,” I clarify, as if it weren’t obvious. “I think I’m in the mood for chicken, maybe this one? What do you want?” I point at the Cuban chicken club on the menu, and Phil bats my hand away.

“The Philly cheese steak!” He nearly shouts, holding the laminated page up toward me so it’s stuck in my face. “Get it, cause it’s a _Phil_ -ly!” I groan and roll my eyes at the horrible pun, but it’s sort of adorable, so I end up grinning anyway. At least he’s too focused on his discovery to notice. “No cheese sauce, though, but I think the provolone will be alright?”

Now he does turn back to me, and I try to school my face into something more appropriate for being annoyed by his bad joke. But he’s just staring at me, wide-eyed and expectant, and my brows arch up my forehead.

“Sorry, what, the cheese?”

“D’you think it’ll be too much, the provolone? I don’t want just a meat sandwich,” he clarifies, holding the menu closer to my face - it’s now quite literally only a few inches away. 

“The- no, Phil, I think it’ll be fine, but you can always ask if it’s super cheesy or not,” I stifle a chuckle at how serious his face goes, all scrunched up in consideration, and opt to rest my chin on his shoulder as he decides. He spends a few more moments scanning the menu, maybe trying to decide if something else will be better, before leaning forward to stand from the chair. I do my best not to pitch forward at the loss of support under my face.

“The Cuban chicken sandwich, then?” He asks, and I sit up, intent on standing to join him. “No! Don’t worry about it, I’ll order for us!” His voice comes out flustered and anxious, and I look up from where I’ve already swung my legs over to see his eyes and mouth have both gone wide. “I mean, it’s fine! I’ll, uh, yeah,” he speed-walks away, then, not even glancing back over his shoulder. All I can do is watch, utterly confused. 

Because the bar’s behind me and my neck kind of hurts from craning around to watch, and I can’t imagine what Phil would be doing aside from ordering our food, I opt to sit back in the lounge chair and wait. _I mean, if he was planning on running off, surely he’d pick a better time than when I could very easily still see him, if I wanted._

Still, his nervousness has made _me_ nervous, and I sort of keep peeking back over my shoulder every few seconds. As if that’s any less obsessive. When he finally turns back toward the chairs, I whirl around and busy myself looking entirely carefree, laying back on the chair and closing my eyes for effect.

“They said it’ll be a few minutes, but they’ll bring our food out to us,” Phil’s voice startles me - _even though I knew he was coming back, wow_ \- and I blink up at him for a moment. He looks completely relaxed again, like he had before, so I try not to worry too much about whatever it was he’d been freaking out about. _Maybe he hadn’t been freaking out at all, maybe I just projected my anxiety on him_.


	21. Chapter 21

Our food arrives far more quickly than I expect it to, or maybe it’s just being the subject of Phil’s attention - wrapped in his arms, as we’ve kept it PG-rated this time - that makes the minutes fly by. Begrudgingly, I shift over to my own chair to eat, since two lanky giants barely fit on the single lounge chair, and that’s without a plate of food each. 

Phil makes some sound of appreciation at the first bite, though the sandwich is dripping all over his fries and making quite a mess.

“Not too cheesy?” I ask, swallowing my own food. It’s a bit spicy, and maybe a little too much mustard, but it’s overall not half bad.

“Mm, no, s’good!” He mumbles around the bite, grinning but trying to keep his mouth mostly shut. We eat in relative silence after that point, and I’m rather focused on my sandwich - I hadn’t realized I was so hungry, but I guess that’s what happens when you sleep through breakfast. 

When the waiter arrives to take our mostly-empty plates away, he doesn’t leave a check. And _then_ all Phil’s nervousness from earlier clicks.

“You paid for it, didn’t you,” I deadpan, because it’s a non-question that doesn’t require an answer: his lips have twisted in a sort-of smirk, and his cheeks are a deeper red than they should be just from the sun. Or lack thereof, given we’re still safely hidden under the umbrella.

Just as he opens his mouth to respond anyway, the waiter returns, and I wonder if I might’ve been wrong - but no, I’m not, he’s just dropping off a bloody _slice of cake_. Now my eyes go wide, glancing between the cake and Phil. And the two forks.

“You looked like you could use some cake?” He squeaks out. “Red velvet, I hope that’s alright?” And then I’m torn between laughing and breaking down into tears again - _why the fuck is he so nice to a random guy he just met the day before, who he’s sort of hooked up with, who_ -

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop, just enjoy the cake?” I glance up - hell, I hadn’t even realized I’d looked down - to find Phil’s sheepish smile has turned soft and gentle. _Why does he care so much? I know why I do, but..._ he doesn’t - _can’t_ \- have the same reason for it that I do.

And ‘ _he just likes me_ ’ is too bloody impossible for my emotionally-drained head to handle. So I pick up a fork and dig in.

\--------------------

It’s stupid that the thought of cake is what gets me through the entire wedding. And not even the cake I’ll get to eat at the reception - the cake I ate nearly two hours ago. The person I ate the cake with. The person who bought the cake for me. Because he thought it might cheer me up. 

Frankly, I feel just as sappy as the newlyweds, who’d nearly cried through all their vows - it was almost uncomfortable, honestly, but I sat in the back and had a pretty easy time zoning out for most of it. I think the groom forgot what he was meant to say at one point, because everyone chuckled and it’d startled me from my own silly romantic thoughts for a moment.

But at least the boring bit is over - I’m sure most of the close family didn’t find it boring, but I really don’t even know the couple. Maybe we met ages ago at a family reunion or something? I can’t be bothered to try that hard to remember.

 _I should probably go thank them for inviting me, though..._ without this ornate and a bit over-the-top wedding, I never would’ve been stuck on a nine-hour flight from London with Phil. Never would’ve ended up distracting him from his carsickness on the way to our hotel. Never would’ve made the rash decision to get him to stay in my room. Never would’ve- _shit, I should damn well build a shrine to their love or something._

I opt for applauding loudly when they arrive, some funky old-school upbeat track playing as they and the bridal party enter the large banquet hall. _It’d be weird if I went up and talked to them. They likely wouldn’t even know who I am anyway._

We’re all asked to sit, then, at our respective tables - I can see my parents waving me over, and it’s all I can do to keep a tight grin on my face at the thought of where our conversation might end up going. _Please let there be food soon…_

As I slide into the empty chair beside my mom, my eyes land on a bowl with rolls of bread, and I grab one and tear into it before my parents can ask anything - fortunately, that’s just long enough for the toasts to begin, and champagne is brought round, and I’m able to fend off any possible job-related conversations for the better part of an hour.

In fact, I think I’m doing an _excellent_ job of avoiding so much as a glance in my parents’ direction, feigning rapt interest in the various speeches, confessions of undying love, and banterful accounts of life _before_. There’s a lot of that, a lot of ‘ _before…_ ’

‘ _Before Julie met Cameron…_ ’ they were lost without each other, there’s some stereotypical ‘ _he was a mess_ ’, ‘ _she knew she was missing something_ ’. Things weren’t as bright, as happy. _They_ weren’t as happy. 

And, of course, what tear-jerking toast would be complete without the requisite ‘ _it was love at first sight_ ’? I nearly scoff at the implication - how could a person know, so absolutely and confidently, that someone would end up being perf-

_Fuck._

Of _fucking_ course. I’m a living, walking cliche. I’m _that_ cliche. Love at first sight, something was missing before, I was a mess, lost, didn’t know what I was missing. _Fuck_.

But the toasts have finished, and I can practically _feel_ my parents’ eyes on the back of my head - I’d turned away to very clearly watch the toasters and toastees - so, before I can be bombarded, I mumble something about getting a drink.

One glass of champagne will _not_ be enough to cope with questioning parents, nor with how thoroughly lost I am for Phil.

 _Will this be my wedding, then? These speeches, these trite platitudes about finding ‘the one’?_ Somehow, I can picture it - in a sense. I don’t think Phil would be the type for such an enormous wedding, but I can see us fawning over each other, near-sobbing at our vows, giving each other fond smiles as close family and friends offer obligatory and vague toasts in spite of having no real clue how this all came to be.

_Hell, it sounds like a bloody fairytale, I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t literally living it. If I weren’t seeing all the possibilities for myself._

By the time I make it to the bar, there’s already a line - really, I don’t know what I expected, with it being an open bar and all. I think there’s a buffet off to the side, where a good third of the guests have taken up plates, but I’m still not all that hungry yet. And I’m worried it’d take more than a plate of lasagna or whatever they’re serving to stop my parents from prying.

I’m just stepping to the front of the line when I realize I’ve given exactly zero thought to what I actually want to drink - anxiety spikes hard and fast in my chest for a moment, an overwhelming surge on top of my lingering apprehension about dealing with my parents; I’m not even sure what there _is_ to order, and _of fucking course_ that’s when my brain decides to pop into the future for a visit.

A suit in the mirror - one that doesn’t look too different from the one I’ve got on in the present - and nerves have me convinced something’s wrong, something’s going to go wrong, or maybe my jacket has a fraying thread or my tie isn’t tied quite right. Then I’m stood staring down a long aisle - shit, _the_ aisle, apparently - waiting. For who, I can’t say, as they haven’t arrived, but I’m waiting for-

“Let’s go with two glasses of wine, then? Sure, red is good,” I blink several times at the voice, which sounds familiar and a bit far away, but the present finally starts to come into focus. The bar, the bartender, the bottle of wine he’s pouring into two glasses - they all take a moment to filter in as my mind tries to situate itself.

“Is that alright? You looked a bit...lost,” that voice again, but-

“Phil?” I turn, finally coherent enough to recognize him; he’s leaned up on the counter beside me, a suit jacket stretched tight over his shoulders as he hunches forward, black dress pants clinging to his legs, and I take probably far too long studying his outline before I can focus on the slight concern wrinkling his brows.

“Are you alright, you look like you-”

“What are you doing here?” I want to shout it, but I sort of end up whispering because he _isn’t_ _meant to be here_ , and what if he gets thrown out? What if they throw him out of the whole damn hotel for crashing a wedding? Could they do that?

“Thought I’d come down and pop in for a bit,” his frown turns into a smirk, evidently pleased I’m aware enough to be asking. Before I can protest, or frown at him, or whatever my still-confused brain thought might be a good idea, he’s grabbing both glasses of wine from the counter and tilting his head to ask if I’ll follow.

I do, of course.


	22. Chapter 22

He doesn’t go for a table, which makes sense as he hasn’t got one to sit at. Because he’s not supposed to be here.

“ _Phil_ ,” I try again, speed-walking to catch up to where he’s finally decided to stand, a bit near the back of the room, away from most of the other people. “What are you-”

“Here,” he hands me a glass as I approach, then lifts his in the air. “To the newlyweds.” He’s sporting a grin right on the edge of laughter, wide and bright and expressing _zero_ concern for possibly getting thrown out. Hell, he doesn’t even technically have a _reservation_ here.

Pure instinct takes over, crowding out my worries for a moment, and I tilt my glass to clink with his. It’s not til I’ve taken a sip that I realize I’m not meant to just _go along with this_.

“Phil!” I try again, once I’ve properly swallowed. “You’ll get kicked out, you can’t be here!” Already, my head’s on a swivel, checking for any prying eyes that might be ready to toss him out, or report him to hotel security or something. There’s a door across the way, not too far, and I grab his arm to drag him over.

“Dan, Dan, calm down,” he grins at me, still bright and far too easygoing for the predicament we’re stuck in. “Would anyone even recognize me? How would they know I’m not meant to be here?” He’s slowed to a stop, and I’m trying to come up with a good enough reason to keep pulling at him. 

“You….but- I mean, they’ll-” I break off. _How would they know? There are tons of people here I’d never know I was related to…_ Phil’s just watching me, and I know my mouth is open and I probably still look like I’m about to protest, but I’m a bit too captivated by the way his lips have curled into a smile. They look darker, maybe from the wine, or maybe I’m just imagining things.

Either way, I very much want to kiss them.

“Can I stay, then?” He asks, finally, and I tear my gaze away to properly look him in the eyes. Which maybe, in retrospect, isn’t nearly as intelligent a move as I think it’ll be: they’re dark as well, a little mischievous, full of ‘ _let’s see what happens_ ’ and maybe it’s the champagne and lack of food but I sort of just want to go with it.

Because I don’t trust my mouth right now, I just nod. _Oh god, we’re in a room full of people who may recognize me, who may see me with Phil, who may want to come over and talk and-_

“Oh god, my _parents_!” I all but shout, and I can feel how wide my eyes have gone - it takes every ounce of willpower not to whirl around on the spot and search for my table. _Please, for the love of all that’s holy in this universe, do not be watching me right now…_

Phil doesn’t look near as concerned as I think he should be, just takes another sip of his wine and lifts his brows at me.

“I don’t want them to see-” now his brows furrow instead, a deep crinkle accompanied by a frown that I very much do not like. “No! It’s not that I wouldn’t want them to see _you_ , it’s just...they ask a lot of questions, what would I even say?” I pout, fully on purpose, in the hopes he’ll go easy on me. Because _fuck_ would I want him to meet my family some day, but like...not til I have a better explanation than ‘ _we met on a plane and had sex the next day because my future visions you don’t believe in showed me we would be amazing together_ ’. 

Yeah, can’t imagine that going over well. Not with my parents, not with Phil. I wonder if that’s something I’ll ever tell him - why I did everything I did. _I think I would, just not yet._

“Well what would you like to do, then?” Phil’s tone is even, and he takes another sip of wine; when I do the same, I realize I’m halfway through the glass, though I don’t recall drinking. Stress is...stressful. “We could hide out in the corner, or maybe just ditch altogether?” 

“No, I can’t- my parents would probably kill me if they flew me all the way out for the wedding and I only stayed long enough to get some free booze and dip,” I grumble into my wine. “Besides,” I hoist the glass, “open bar.”

Phil just smirks at me, apparently satisfied with that non-answer for the time being. We sip for a little longer in silence, until my glass is empty and Phil’s got a hand on my lower back, leading me over for another drink. On our way, I take a quick glance at my table, searching for what I’m sure are the prying gazes of my parents.

Except they aren’t looking - a wave of relief washes over me, so strong that I end up leaning heavily on the bar, exhaling a deep breath as we wait for the bartender. Phil must follow my line of sight, because a moment later, his lips are at my ear.

“Parents?” I nod and try to keep my breathing steady, though I want nothing more than to melt into him, to have him shove me against the nearest wall and let his hands wander my body, let him do- “They look nice.” And all at once, the words - the fact that we’re talking about _my parents_ \- hits me, and I do my best to shut down that train of thought.

“They can be,” I finally manage after a moment. “They are, actually,” I amend, because they are - they care, it’s just sometimes a bit overwhelming. Well-intentioned but frustrating. A moment later, the bartender’s asking what we’d like, and I glance over to see Phil just staring at me, waiting.

“Uh, I don’t-”

“How about two of your fruitiest cocktails?” Phil interjects, and I’m immensely grateful; once again, I’d been entirely unprepared, distracted by my own worries. It’s times like this I wish my brain would just shut up for five minutes, let me enjoy whatever’s going on here. At least there aren’t any flashes of future possibilities this time.

Something pink and citrusy gets placed in front of my elbow, and I reach for it without thinking. Phil does the same for his own glass, then he’s taken my free hand and I’m being dragged back to our safe little corner.

I’m not sure why I class it as ‘safe’, given there’s nothing really particularly safe about it, but nobody seems inclined to wander back there and I allow myself to lean into Phil a bit as he talks. I think he’s saying something about how his afternoon had gone, but I’m already three sips into this drink - it’s _very_ sweet, like liquid candy - and everything’s a bit fuzzy.

“Dan? Earth to Dan?” There’s a hand in my face, somewhere between my eyeballs and the half-empty martini glass, and I follow the source up to a slightly-frowny Phil. “Maybe we should-” he breaks off, stepping back from my side and tugging my drink away. I pout at him, but I’m not quite up to fighting him for it. I watch as the bright pink liquid - and the glass it’s in, and the hand holding that glass, and the person attached to that hand - moves across the room a bit, and the drink ends up on a table. Phil’s drink, however, does not accompany it.

“Maybe let’s get some food in you?” His hand finds my back again, and I don’t protest when he leads me toward the buffet table. Whatever garlicky thing they’ve got set out, it’s calling my name. 


	23. Chapter 23

We end up sat at some table near the back - the one currently hosting my half-empty drink, though Phil won’t let me touch it til I’ve had most of the pasta and chicken on my plate. He got some food as well, but he seems more focused on mine.

“I don’t want you passing out on me,” he frowns. I just stick my tongue out, then shove another bite in my mouth. It’s actually quite good, I just don’t care much for the _reason_ I’m eating it. _I’m not going to pass out, damn it._

“I can hold my liquor,” I argue, stabbing at a piece of chicken. Phil just purses his lips, though I’m cognizant enough to see he’s trying to hide a grin. Which means I’m cognizant enough to finish my damn drink. “Thanks very much,” I grumble; I grab the glass before he can stop me, lock eyes with him, then down it all in one go. Which, admittedly, probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done today. But I said I wouldn’t pass out, not that I wouldn’t make dumb decisions.

“Dan-” he cuts himself off with a groan as I gulp down the last sip, then set the glass back on the table and grin at him. He actually _rolls his eyes_ at me, though he’s looking more fond than frustrated. Or maybe a good mix of both.

“Another, then?” I stand, wobbling just a bit, and Phil’s hand is on my arm, steadying me, before I realize he’s even stood up. Granted, everything is blurrier than usual, but only a little. 

“No, no, I think we’re going back to the room,” he’s tugging me away, toward the door, but I’m suddenly not feeling like leaving. Or maybe I’m just being contrary, but either way, I stand my ground (mostly) and Phil finally lets go with a pout and crossed arms. Which seems rather unfair, as he’s the one trying to make me do something I don’t want to.

“Come on, Philly, we can stay a bit, right? I promise, no more drinks,” I lift my pinky in the air. I haven’t a clue if I actually intend to keep that promise, but it seems like the only thing that’ll make him let me have my way. 

Phil just frowns at my raised hand for a moment before capturing my pinky with his, then shaking them like we’re shaking hands. The action is so absurd and serious that, suddenly, I find myself giggling at our linked hands. He shakes his head at me, but there’s a tiny grin there, and I use my grip on him to my advantage.

“Come on, let’s dance!” It is, by far, the stupidest thing I’ve said all day, but I’m feeling light and bubbly and I’ve got Phil so who the fuck cares? I can’t dance to save my life, and I’m willing to be Phil can’t either, but it’ll be fun. Probably.

Phil seems...far less enthusiastic about my plans for us. I think he’s mumbling something behind me, but our pinkies are still latched together and he’s not pulling back _that_ hard, so I don’t stop til we’re in the middle of the dance floor and I can feel the bass thumping down to my bones.

When I whirl around, he’s stood among all the other random flowing bodies looking about as lost as I want to feel right now. But he’s here, and I’m here, and I don’t even know _why_ I didn’t want to leave - _seriously, I didn’t want to leave? And be alone with him?_ \- but I didn’t, so I tug him closer until we’re basically chest to chest and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

Belatedly, I wonder if my parents can see me, but a quick glance around confirms we’re too surrounded by other guests, so I let myself focus completely on Phil. In spite of his very obvious nerves, his hands rest around my waist in a loose loop, and we’re sort of swaying to a beat that’s probably meant for something more vigorous but I wouldn’t even begin to know what to do aside from this.

To the other, more skilled - or more wasted - dancers, we probably seem out of place and awkward, but I’m suddenly finding I can’t think of anything aside from the blushed red cheeks and wide blue eyes of the man I’m pressed up against. Although I’m very much regretting the several layers of clothing between us - won’t be long before I decide that has to go, I think. Not here, but I don’t doubt we’ll leave sooner rather than later.

“Why’d you come?” I realize I have to lean in to be heard, though I have absolutely no problem putting my mouth up against Phil’s ear, and _maybe_ I spend a bit too long right there, _maybe_ I let my lips wander his neck before coming to rest my head on his shoulder. It’s a bit of an odd angle, given we’re practically the same height, but I don’t really mind.

“Thought you could use the company,” he says, but his voice sounds a bit higher than usual. I’m about to ask if that’s all it was, then - honestly, it’s still a sweet gesture, but I guess my dumb lovesick heart was hoping for something more romantic. Granted, I did just watch two people get married, so maybe I’m just being sappy.

“And I missed you,” this is a quieter confession, I can feel the way he’s turned his head so his lips are right against my ear, and I’m grinning into his shoulder before I can even think about it. He presses a quick kiss to my temple, which is so absurdly sweet and caring, and I swear if I weren’t already head over heels, I’d sure as fuck be gone for him now.

For a moment, I consider not responding, but...he said it first. I may as well. My lips travel back up, and I _maybe_ press myself a bit closer to him. Not in any attempt at seduction, I just want to emphasize my point.

“I missed you too,” I can actually feel his smile, with how close our cheeks are, and we both sort of end up chuckling into each other. “We’re such saps,” I giggle a bit, still feeling fuzzy but not nearly as much as I had before. “I can’t believe we only met two days ago.”

When Phil stiffens in my arms, stops swaying for a moment, my heart leaps into my throat. _Fuck, I’ve said something wrong, shit, fucking hell, I ruined the whole damn-_

“Is that- I mean, that’s kinda weird, right?” Phil’s voice is all hesitation, but he’s resumed his slow swaying, and I move along with him, desperately wracking my brain for the right words. _How do I fix this?_

“Does it matter?” Is apparently what I settle on, and then I’m holding my breath and trying to keep my heart from racing as I wait for an answer. _Fuck, maybe it_ does _matter._ But I can’t think of anything else to say - because, of course, it doesn’t matter to _me._ I’m suddenly terrified for his answer. I suddenly have no interest in hearing it.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” I suggest, pulling away, but one glance at Phil’s face - lips curled into a smile, tongue poking from between his teeth, and those lovely little crinkles by his eyes - sends a flood of relief through my veins. I reach up, trace a line from the corners of his eyes down to his chin, then pause there. I think I’m grinning as well.

“Yeah,” his lips move, though I’m not sure his voice was loud enough to properly hear, but he nods as well, and I lean in for the briefest kiss, letting my hand hold him in place. It’s chaste, quick, and not at all indicative of the direction my brain is already taking - out the door, down the hall, into our room, into bed…

Before I can get too distracted from the present, I grab his hand and tug him from the dance floor and toward the nearest door.


	24. Chapter 24

Our room isn’t even that far, but we only make it outside the doors of the lobby and into the warm, humid evening air before Phil’s got me pinned against the nearest wall - it’s the first dark, secluded spot we’ve passed, apparently. I’m not complaining.

Okay, I almost want to complain a _little_ because Phil’s not being gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier mum-like caring for me, and my head hits the rough stone I’m pressed up against. I have exactly half a second to realize it’s one of the future possibilities I saw before his lips crash into mine and the whole thing all but disappears from my memory; this moment is the only one that exists.

And _fuck_ I can’t even be bothered to care, because his hands run down the sides of my dress shirt, tugging at where it’s tucked in until he can get his hands on skin. He’s biting at my lip, and I know I’m making these embarrassing whimpering sounds, but it’s not like he’s not heard them before, and nobody’s around. 

For a moment, I just let him have his way with me - because it’s fucking _hot_ \- but then I’m mirroring his actions, desperate to get my hands on something other than nicely-pressed but annoyingly thick clothing. Hell, I’m well tempted to just rip his damn shirt open at this point, but that’d probably not be the best call - it’s a very nice shirt, and I’d hate to ruin it.

 _Maybe another time, another shirt, one that’s not as nice._ The thought has me reaching up to Phil’s neck, searching blindly for his tie, his top button, anything I can undo and get us a bit closer.

For a minute, I continue to fail miserably - to be fair, I’m quite preoccupied by Phil’s lips, hands, body, etcetera - but frustration finally bubbles over and I push him back, force us apart so I can focus on my task.

In the moderate silence of the night, our breaths sound loud and fast and heavy. Hell, they _are_ , but they happen to also _sound_ that way when there’s no other form of distraction. My fingers fumble with Phil’s tie, a larger and easier target for my still-slightly-drunk hands, but then _he’s_ grabbing _my_ tie and pulling me away and toward the other door, toward our hallway, toward our room.

 _Toward our bed_.

I’d been about to protest, whine or complain or pout at him for distancing us even farther from each other, but now I’m following like a puppy on a leash, quite literally. I’m glad nobody passes us in the hall, glad Phil’s got an easily accessible room key, glad when the door clicks shut behind us and Phil locks it.

Slowly, very slowly, he turns toward me. The look in his eye borders on predatory, and I am _living for it_. Taking a page from his book, I grab the trailing end of his tie and tug him farther into the room, toward the bed. When the backs of my knees collide with the mattress, I fall onto it, and he’s quick to follow. It’s not til his face is only an inch from mine that I let go of the tie, focus on more important things, like removing the actual clothing between us.

Apparently I’m incapable of the buttons on his shirt, so I opt for sliding his jacket from his shoulders first. Torturously slowly. Watching his eyes - the way they lock with mine - is every bit as erotic as I’d hoped it would be, feeling his chest expand against mine as his breaths come fast, letting my fingers trail down his arms as I work the jacket off him.

At the last second, he slips it off the rest of the way and tosses it somewhere that literally doesn’t matter in the slightest. My fingers find his buttons again, though I end up frowning when I can’t even get the first undone. _Somehow it always seems easier when it’s- oh._

An idea pops into my head, quite a lucid one for how blurry and floaty everything else feels, and I push at Phil’s shoulders until he’s rolled onto the other side of the bed and I’m the one on top of him. He must think - well, his eyes go wide, which is immensely pleasing, that I surprised him; but he must think I’m wanting him to have a go at my clothes. Which is very much not the case.

I settle back on his hips, knees on either side, and push him back down to the mattress the moment he tries to sit up.

“Just watch,” I command. It doesn’t come out much like a command, though, more a hoarse whisper-like sound, but Phil sucks in a breath and his eyes stay just as wide, so I figure it’s probably seductive enough. Besides, it’s more the actions that count, anyway.

Belatedly, I realize I must’ve left my own jacket back at the reception, but I’m sure my parents will grab it or I can pick it up in the morning - it’s about as far from important as it could be right now. I work on my tie instead, loosening it until it’s hung round my neck in a wide loop, then start on the buttons of my own dress shirt.

Somehow, maybe by muscle memory, I’m able to get those undone without too much trouble. _Yeah, cause how often am I undressing someone else?_ I try not to let that sad truth of my life ruin my current mood. I take my time, going as slowly as I think I can get away with, given how dark Phil’s eyes have gone just looking at me. 

That right there, the surge of pride in my chest knowing how affected he is right now, it’s all the confidence I need to smirk down at him, to fucking _wink_ like I know what I’m doing, like this isn’t all uncharted territory, like I’m not madly in love with a guy I only met two days ago.

And just like that, at that thought, everything crashes: nerves make my fingers fumble, the button won’t come undone, and I end up frowning down at it instead of grinning down at Phil. Anxiety spikes in my chest, completely washing over every iota of bravery I had, and I’m just _waiting_ for the stupid flashes of the future to tell me all the horribly embarrassing or tragic ways this’ll end.

But they don’t come. Instead, hands find mine, tugging them gently away from my shirt, and Phil’s fingers - far steadier than mine - make quick work of the rest of the buttons. Humiliation flushes my cheeks, and it’s not til a hand has reached up and pulled me down that I manage to meet Phil’s gaze.

It’s softer, now, _loving_ , if I dared to dream he felt the same way I do. And _fuck_ I’m really daring to dream right now. For a moment, his eyes just search mine; I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but he must find it, because he wraps an arm around my back and holds me tight against his chest.

Everything slows down, turns from frantic heat into languid warmth as we both just breathe together; it’s a strange shift, unexpected but not unwelcome. My brain was having a tough time keeping up with the emotional rollercoaster - I should’ve known, given I can barely handle my emotions when I’m fully sober.

I let myself relax into the crook of his neck, let my breathing slow and let myself calm down. We’re both quiet, the room stays quiet as well, and I’m about to close my eyes, to drift off into this moment for a bit.

“This feels like... _something_ , doesn’t it?” Phil’s words sound loud when they break the silence, though they’re objectively just above a whisper. I don’t have to ask to know what he means.

“Yeah,” I say. ‘ _It could be something, something amazing. I’ve seen it,_ ’ I don’t say. Not yet. Someday, when all the confusion and newness is behind us. I chuckle - even in my head, it’s becoming ‘ _when_ ’, not ‘ _if_ ’. 

“It _is_ funny, isn’t it,” Phil says, and I realize he’s referring to my laugh. Which hadn’t been quite about that, but I nod anyway. It _is_ , from the outside. The natural chaos of the universe somehow made this insane, impossible coincidence happen, and here we are. Literally living an unreal fairytale story.

I hum into his neck, and he chuckles a bit as well; his chest shakes lightly under me, and I end up shifting to a more comfortable position by his side. I keep a leg and arm draped over him, though. I don’t really want to be separate, but I’m also not quite in the same mood as before - sexy has turned into sappy, and I’m not sure if I should blame the alcohol or my own tendencies to be dramatic.

“Sleep?” Phil asks, but his voice is clear and not all that sleepy-sounding. And honestly, I’m not feeling _sleepy_ , just...comfortable. Close. 

“No, let’s...you wanted to know more about me? Maybe just talk for a bit?” I suggest instead. Which was apparently a great decision, as he’s grinning and nodding and it’s the loveliest sight in the world, I’ve just decided. _The eighth world wonder: Phil’s smile._


	25. Chapter 25

“You’re not gonna deflect again, are you?” Phil’s voice comes out tentative, but I just scrunch my face and frown at him.

“Deflect? I don’t deflect, what are you talking about?” He shifts under me, turning to arch his brows and give me a look. 

“You- alright, okay, let’s see...superpower?” I’m still confused - _I wasn’t deflecting, was I?_ \- but he’s just brushed past it.

“Uhm, teleportation, obviously,” I tilt my head, waiting for his response.

“Well you have to say _why_ , otherwise it doesn’t even tell me anything!”

“I’m lazy as fuck, no deep psychoanalysis there,” I roll my eyes, “your turn.”

“Invisibility,” he blurts out quickly, and I wonder if he didn’t ask for the sake of being able to give his own answer. “I hate being around people.” Now his face has scrunched up in a grimace, and his gaze drifts to the ceiling. “Actually, if I could get that right now, that’d be great.”

It takes me a moment.

“Ah, the work thing.” He nods. “Would you disappear to keep me from seeing you?” It’s a selfish question, but I figure I have at least another hour of blaming alcohol for lowered inhibitions, so I’ll be as selfish as I damn well please. _If this is doomed to fail, better to know now._

“Actually, you’re like...the only person I’ve ever met I _don’t_ want to disappear around,” he’s not watching me, so I let myself stare, I let my mouth drop open. Then clamp it shut the moment he glances back at me. I must still look...some kind of way, because he clears his throat and his cheeks go a shade of pink they weren’t before. “Next question, your turn.”

“Oh, and _I’m_ the one deflecting, am I?” I nudge my elbow into his ribs, which is a bit awkward from this angle, but it gets the point across enough for Phil to poke me right back; when I flinch away, that just opens a whole damn can of worms. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“You’re ticklish?” His lips curl up in a wicked smirk that does not bode well for me.

“No, I’m- ah, _ah_ , _hey!_ ” I know I’m being too loud, probably bothering whoever’s in the rooms beside us, but Phil’s relentless, to the point of pinning me to the mattress with one hand while the other works at my ribs. I manage to catch him by the wrist, though, and I’m about to declare myself victorious - or at least declare a stalemate - when his other hand releases my shoulder to grab _my_ wrists. Both of them.

Before I’m aware it’s happened, my hands are pinned above my head, and I’m literally just laid out like a fucking meal under Phil. 

“So this is how you deflect, is it?” I know my throat is tight, and my words aren’t nearly as teasing as I want them to be, because this is the dominant Phil I’ve seen glimpses of, that has me literally fucking _quivering_ for him, for whatever he has in mind for me. Whatever he wants.

For a moment, he just stares down at me, letting his eyes wander down from where he’s gripping my hands, to my face, my neck, my chest - I swear I can _feel_ his gaze as he goes, but then he’s pressed up against me, and his lips leave light, gentle kisses on my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, wherever he decides.

“Yes, I’m great at deflecting,” he giggles, and his warm breath tickles my skin. It’s odd, I find I’m not even disappointed - it’s actually a bit fun, the rollercoaster, not knowing what to expect from Phil. Hell, I haven’t gotten any more visions of him, any future possibilities, and I’m kind of loving it; a part of my brain says I should be worried for the bad that could happen, the rejection or disappointment, but the rest of me is just too damn focused on _right now_.

“Still your turn for a question,” he reminds me, lips punctuating each word. _He expects me to think? Right now?_ My brain is humming, trying its best to come up with something, anything, that I can ask - but that’s the problem, I want to know _everything_ , how could I hone in on a single question?

“If you could see the future, what would you look for? What would you want to know?” It’s the only thing that comes to mind, the only thing that makes me _different_ , and it stands out among all the other blurry, fuzzy thoughts circling around. Phil pauses, lifts his head and tilts it at me. For a very _very_ long moment, he just stares, eyes flicking between mine; it’s unnerving, thoroughly disconcerting, and I can’t hold his gaze for long. Suddenly, the pillow beside me has me completely enraptured.

“I don’t think I’d want to know anything.” I turn back toward him, frowning. _Nothing? Really?_ “I like to be surprised, in the moment. If I just knew everything, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” I can’t do much aside from blink. Phil, however, has decided to flop down beside me, and he’s staring at the ceiling now - I’m surprised how grateful I am that his attention has been redirected.

“Besides, I’d probably end up looking for all the bad stuff, and then all I’d be able to see is the bad,” he adds. Because we’re now laid out next to each other, I bring my hands down from where he’d left them above my head and twine one with his. It feels natural.

“Yeah, I probably would, too.” I don’t elaborate, don’t mention that I’ve _done_ that. That sometimes, that’s _all_ I do: seek out the bad, even within the good. 

“That can’t be your answer, too! Cheater,” Phil’s elbow grazes my ribs, barely even a nudge, but I turn to find him grinning at me. The smile I return feels a bit fake, a bit tight, because I _really_ didn’t think this through. _Can I even give an honest answer?_ I guess it wouldn’t be the first time I’d wished to see something specific, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Well, my real answer would scare you away.” I actually clamp a hand over my mouth the second the words leave it, because _apparently_ my brain has decided to go full naturally-attractive-Instagram-model and apply _no fucking filter_ to my damn thoughts.

Of course, Phil couldn’t just let that go - _can I blame him? I wouldn’t, if he’d said it_ \- because his brows quirk up at me; I just shut my eyes and make a strangled noise that I intend to be some kind of groan.

“Now you _have_ to tell me, obviously,” his elbow in my side again, but I refuse to open my eyes. _I got myself stuck here, didn’t I?_ My only source of comfort is the fact that we’ve both had a bit to drink and _hopefully_ all memories of this conversation won’t make it til the morning.

“Do I _have_ to, though?” Phil’s hand squeezes mine, which is stupidly comforting and I wish it weren’t. Because I’m still terrified to admit my own thoughts, I’m still terrified he’ll want to run for the hills, but he’s just laying there, shoulder pressed against mine, holding my hand and telling me he _won’t_ go. And I want so badly to believe him.

“Fine, fine,” I can feel my cheeks flushing as I psych myself up to actually admit this. “I’d...see like, what happens. With, uhm, _us_.” The last word comes out more as a whisper, then I’m holding my breath, too embarrassed to even open my eyes but still so desperate to know his reaction.

“Oh,” is all he says. Like that’s enough of an answer. There’s a very audible silence pressing down in my ears, and I finally have to turn, open an eye, just to _see_ what his expression looks like. 

He’s just staring at me. He doesn’t blink. I’m afraid to blink. Then he turns back to the ceiling and _oh fuck, this is it, he’s going to say ‘hey, nice seeing you, this was fun, please don’t stalk me when we get back to London’_.

“Well you don’t need to see the future, I can tell you that,” he actually sounds _offended_ that I’d even suggest such an absurd thing. Both my eyes go wide, now, and I finally allow myself to exhale a huge whoosh of air through my nose because _what the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao soz not soz


	26. Chapter 26

“Well, we’ll get back to London, I’ll take you on a date to a _really_ fancy restaurant and you’ll complain about the cost, but only like, once, because you actually like me spoiling you,” he turns, smirks at me, and I hate that he’s a little right. “Besides, I’ll owe you anyway. You’ll basically _live_ at my flat, because it’s brighter than yours and I have lots of dead houseplants that you’ll complain I never remember to water. And then you’ll take care of them for me,” I think my hand tightens in his - I don’t know if he’s being serious, or if he’s just drunk and saying things, but it sounds so lovely and amazing and _right_ that I’m starting to wonder if he’s not got some clairvoyant abilities of his own. _I mean, surely he doesn’t, right?_

“And you really think I’m about to run away from that? My dead houseplants would rise up and attack me. _Zombie houseplants_!” He’s chuckling, and I can feel the way he turns toward me, but I’ve already gone and buried my head in his shoulder. My heart feels floaty and light and my stomach is full of butterflies, which sounds cliche as fuck but it’s _true_ and I just can’t believe he actually wants all that with me. With _me_.

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?” His voice has dropped it’s bright, banterful tone, and that’s all it takes for me to come out of hiding. To bloody _accept_ that this’ll be something exceptional. _Holy fucking shit._

“No! It was…” I roll my eyes. “It’s gonna sound sappy,” I warn, but he’s just staring at me, lips pursed in an almost-frown, so I push on. “It was exactly what I needed to hear?” I groan, drop my head back to his shoulder. “Told you, sappy,” I mumble into his skin. My face feels impossibly hot, even though I’m half naked and I can hear the AC running.

“You don’t still think it’s too weird, right?” His words from earlier float back into my head, and I’m still absolutely filter-less, so they come right out my mouth. _Me and my desperate need for continuous reassurance, didn’t he just bloody say all the things he wanted not a minute ago?_

“Sure it’s weird, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s good, actually. Normalness leads to sadness.” He says it with such conviction, like it’s a fact and not a random drunk string of sentences at the end of an incredibly long day, and I don’t even realize I’m sniffling until he pushes me back a bit, forces me to look at him.

“Are you-”

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’m fine, I’m just…” I let out a bitter laugh, then suck in a breath in a way that _definitely_ says I’m one second away from bawling. “I promise, just tired and a little overwhelmed.” It’s true, at least: I’m not sure how much more of this sentimental crap I can handle right now. “Can we, uh, just sleep maybe?”

I honestly don’t even hear his response, just watch his face soften into a smile, then I’m buried back in his shoulder and he’s tugging the duvet up around us and I think the light flicks off but I’m not anywhere in the realm of cognizance enough to say for sure.

\--------------

“It was literally the _only_ thing you said you wanted to do this weekend,” I point out, watching Phil rifle through his mess of a suitcase - I mean, he’s literally been here for the _weekend_ , not a bloody month, how he ends up with clothing strewn in a terrifying pile around his bag is beyond me.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so _far_ ,” he argues, though he’s now standing, holding his other pair of trunks in the air triumphantly. In spite of the whine in his voice, he’s grinning at me. I go for my trump card.

“If you hadn’t met me, would you have gone to the beach?” I fold my arms across my chest and quirk a brow - I’ve been ready to go for the past ten minutes, but he keeps coming up with excuses not to go. Even as I say it, even as he’s tugging the swimsuit on, his face scrunches up.

“I mean, probably, but-”

“No buts!” I regret it the moment I say it, because Phil uses that opportunity to literally wiggle his ass at me, which is adorable and endearing but I roll my eyes anyway. “What are you, eight? Come on, let’s go, I think there’s a shuttle leaving in-” I check my phone, “ten minutes, come _on_!” I only stop my glaring when he’s holed himself up in the bathroom to change.

It’s true, I want him to get everything out of his vacation he would’ve gotten out of it without me - specifically, the beach. I don’t want him to have any regrets when we part ways for the week. I don’t want him to come back to London with a bitter taste in his mouth because he spent all his time with me and didn’t get to do the _one thing_ he’d planned on this weekend.

“Alright, alright, I’m ready,” they’re words that should probably be grumbled, but he sounds more excited than annoyed as he emerges. _Good._ I hand him our towels, stuff the sunscreen and some miscellaneous snacks in a bag, then hold the door for him. 

\------------

It’s stupid and hot and I’m probably burnt and I _definitely_ have sand in places where sand should never go, but Phil’s like a puppy, so damn eager and happy; he spends half the time splashing around in the water and insisting I come build a bloody sandcastle with him, and the other half dragging me into the waves and trying to get me to jump them with him.

His grin is contagious, though, and I might - _might_ \- admit I’m having a little bit of fun.

“Come on!” His hand tugs mine up from the towel where I’ve been laying for the past...however long since I was able to convince him to give me a break - I’m definitely burning, but it’ll fade pretty quickly. Hell, I’ll be back to my pale self within the week, with how little I usually go outside.

“ _Phil_ ,” I grumble, but I’m already sat up, climbing to my feet and stumbling forward when he literally drags me off toward the water. “Nononono, I’m _finally_ mostly dry, I don’t want- ugh, _Phil_ ,” I groan as he keeps on pulling me, but only til we’re up just above our ankles in the water.

The waves have calmed quite a bit, barely lapping at my legs, so at least I won’t be _totally_ soaked again. Unless Phil’s got something more nefarious in mind than just standing.

Which is exactly what he’s doing now, just standing beside me, staring out at the horizon; the sun’s started dipping below the line of the ocean, and the whole sky turns the most vibrant shades of orange and pink. _Oh, he wanted to watch the sunset._ Of course he did. A grin tugs at my cheeks.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” I admit; I’m watching the sun now, the way it’s sunk halfway down, a perfect semicircle. The exact scene you’d see in a travel magazine, just a little too picturesque, a little too perfect to be real but here it is, existing. 

“Yeah,” Phil’s voice sounds far away, soft, almost engulfed by the ambient sounds of the ocean. This, _us_ , it’s almost too perfect as well; unrealistic and magnificent and something that had no right to happen, especially not to me. But here we are.

Existing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is technically the last chapter but there's also an epilogue and bonus scene ;)


	27. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months later

“Phil?” I call into the space - it’s pretty bright in the lounge, but I think it has more to do with the curtains that he’s left open than lights he’s turned on. “Hello?” But I still get no response - and Phil’s not one to hang out in his room with headphones in, like I would; usually he’s out here, closer to the kitchen.

With something that could be classed as a groan, I drop my keys - well, _his_ keys, but his spare ones. The ones he gave me. A grin creeps up my face, full of disbelief and excitement, even after three whole months. _Three whole fucking months…_

I drop my backpack onto the sofa, then head to the kitchen, passing several crispy little plants along the way. _Of course._ I shake my head as I fill the largest glass I can find at the sink, then give the poor half-dead plants probably more water than they’ve had in the past week.

It’s not til I’m returning the cup to the kitchen that I notice the sticky note on the fridge - ‘ _work meeting late maybe 8 I promise I’ll bring home wine don’t hate me_ ’. I roll my eyes, because he literally could’ve just _texted_ me that. He probably thought it’d be cute, though, to leave a note.

I decide to settle myself on the sofa for a bit, scroll through my emails - the social media aspect of the campaign has _finally_ started, meaning I actually have work to do, but I’m trying to keep my responses to only during regular business hours unless absolutely necessary. Work-life balance, and all that shit.

Frankly, I’m just glad it looks like it’s off to a good start - I think I was more worried than the project team was that I have literally _zero_ experience in marketing or running a social media campaign for _anything_ , let alone a mental health organization, but everything seems to be going...smoothly. 

And I can _work from home_ , thank fuck. Or from Phil’s flat, whenever my own gets too claustrophobic. It’s only been a couple months since I actually landed the job, but I’m surprised to find I’m actually _enjoying_ it. _Me, enjoying a job, who’d have thought?_

I click the TV on for background noise, some channel I don’t bother changing because I’m barely paying attention anyway. Hell, I’m barely even looking at the emails I’m scrolling through, because it’s already half past seven - thank fuck Phil’s not making me wait too long. I pretend to care about my inbox for another five minutes before switching over to staring blankly at the TV. I think it’s some animal documentary, which is just so _Phil_ that I end up smiling at the screen for several minutes.

Or maybe _more_ than several minutes? The doorknob jiggles, startling me from my trance, and Phil’s stepping inside with a bag of takeout - Indian, if the smell is anything to go by - and a bottle of wine in hand.

“Don’t be mad?” He gives me a sheepish grin as he hoists the bottle in the air, and I can just make out that it’s that cheap red he likes because it’s too sweet and I put up with because I like how it tastes on his lips.

“I’m not,” I shake my head, smirking at him as I stand. “Trying to bribe me, Lester?” I grab the food, leaving him to the wine, and head toward the kitchen. We usually eat in the lounge, but when there’s wine involved, it’s better to have a flat, stable surface under our glasses. Well, Phil’s specifically.

“Promise?” I hear the clink of the bottle being set on the table a second before arms wrap me from behind, before lips find my cheek for a quick kiss. I leave the food, opting to turn in his grip and lean in for a _proper_ kiss.

“We’re even, I watered your plants,” I try to contain my chuckle when his face scrunches up in annoyance - he _insists_ he’s doing just fine taking care of his various houseplants, although I suspect he replaces them if they fully die so he can avoid my judgment. For my part, I’ve given up doing much more than tease him about it. I just go behind his back and actually try to keep the poor things alive.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I quirk a brow. _Is he going to actually argue on this?_ Even though there’s something very clearly _here_ between us, even though it’s been months and I shouldn’t at all be self-conscious, I can’t help but worry things will take a turn for the worst - I’ll slip up once, and he’ll just drop me.

Which is stupid - he’s said so, during one of our late night pizza and way-too-much-alcohol and pretending-to-sleep conversations; I’m trying very hard to internalize his words: _he loves me, he said so, and I love him. And I trust that he loves me. I trust him not to lie about that._ Besides, I’ve _still_ never had a bad vision about us, and that has to count for something.

“ _Fine_ , we’re even,” he relents with a grin that curls the corners of his lips. He’s broken away a second later to dig through the cupboard, searching - I assume - for wine glasses. 

He comes up with two mugs, though - the two Florida ones he’d won from a team-building event during that trip three months ago. He looks about to apologize, probably for not having proper glasses, but I just grab the mugs away from him.

“Seems appropriate,” I tilt my head and smirk at him, and he lets out a breathy chuckle that tells me he’d been tense, waiting to exhale. That tells me he thought I’d be annoyed.

I fill the mugs with wine - probably a bit much, but it doesn’t really matter - and set them on the table before sitting down. Phil joins me a moment later, various boxes of takeout spread between us. I’m possessed by a sudden urge to commemorate this moment, to acknowledge the happiness, the domesticity, the _familiarity_ \- because it’s _so_ damn familiar, like we’ve been doing this for years, not months.

“To us,” I lift my mug, the cartoonish representation of an alligator grinning sharp-toothed back at me. Phil’s brows scrunch together, but his face smooths out into a confused smile a moment later. 

“To us,” he agrees, and we clink, take a sip. I’m pretty much used to the slightly-too-sweet flavor by now; mostly it makes me think of sex, which might be a problematic thing for a wine to remind me of, but it does and I end up taking another sip in a poor attempt at distraction. _But Phil in bed..._ I can’t get the idea out of my head, now that it’s there, and I glance up to find him just watching me. He lifts his mug back to his mouth slowly, deliberately, and his eyes darken in that single second.

I swear, sometimes, he can read my mind; I end up tasting wine from Phil’s lips in his bed not two hours later.


	28. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later

“Come on, you love the beach!” Phil sounds a bit like a kid begging his mum for candy, trying to reason that _it’s good for me, mum!_ ‘ _You love the beach, Dan!_ ’.

“You know I don’t,” I grumble and roll my eyes, but let him tug me along anyway, into the sand that I can basically _feel_ crawling up my skin and getting into all sorts of uncomfortable places. And we’ve literally only just arrived.

“But this’ll be fun,” he pauses to peek back over his shoulder, the light of the moon casting his face in shadow. Because it’s the middle of the damn night, the beach is _closed_ , thank you very much, and we sure as hell shouldn’t be here.

But here we _well fucking are_.

“Come on! I promise,” Phil tries again, tugging at my hand gently. I groan, more for dramatic effect than because I’m all that annoyed - mostly I’m just terrified we’ll get caught. He marches off, dragging me with him, until we’re stood ten feet from the wet sand at the edge of the water.

“Alright, alright, we’re here, what’s so fun about the beach at night? Getting thrown into American jail?” I still can’t believe he sprung this trip on me, back to the same hotel we met at - rather, we _got together_ at - last year. An anniversary trip, which was just so absurd and unnecessary and sentimental and _Phil_ that I couldn’t possibly say no.

Instead of answering, he whirls around, hand dropping mine to trail his fingers down my sides, to rest at my hips. It’s not cold, even though it’s two in the damn morning, but I shiver anyway; he’s looking at me like _that_ , and he just goes and licks his fucking lips like he doesn’t know what that does to me.

And then my trunks are gone.

Phil’s literally just stripped me half-naked on a public beach in the middle of the night and I’m about ready to fucking _kill_ him.

“What the _fuck_ , Phil!” I try to whisper-shout as I crouch down to pull my pants back up from around my ankles, but his hands grab my wrists before I get there and hold me still. For a very long, tense moment, he just stares into my eyes, and I get it the _second_ before his lips part.

“You’re not serious,” I deadpan, “you want to go- in the middle- _Phil_ , what if we get caught?” I realize my own high-pitched voice might be the very thing that gets us caught, but he can’t want to go fucking _skinny dipping_ at a _public beach_ , can he?

He moves slowly now, like I’m a wild animal he doesn’t want to startle, and the pressure releases from around my wrists. I straighten back up, head on a swivel, but the closest group of people - because of _course_ there are people - seems to be well off a ways down the beach. I guess we aren’t the only ones ignoring the fact that we aren’t meant to be here. That doesn’t stop my heart rate skyrocketing, though, when Phil’s fingers find the edge of my shirt, tug it up over my head.

Then I’m fully naked and he’s still in his damn clothes.

“Not fair,” I grumble, returning the favor and stripping him quickly, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He’s honestly just grinning at me, which I can see now that I’ve adjusted to the lack of lighting. And _fuck_ , his eyes rake down my body, and it’s certainly not the first time it’s happened, but it feels _different_ , being so exposed in public. Even with nobody else nearby.

Before I can say anything - which is probably for the best - he grabs my hand and drags me off toward the water. It’s not as cold as I expected, though it isn’t warm either, and it feels a bit like an uncomfortable bath until Phil’s dragged us far out enough that we’re submerged up to our shoulders.

Then he whirls around, and the way he presses up against me, that is not at _all_ like an uncomfortable bath - everything suddenly feels a thousand degrees hotter. The saltwater makes our skin slippery, and Phil’s hands on my hips slide up my sides and across my chest and leave fire in their wake.

It’s silly, and I feel a bit like a horny teenager, but I’m already hard against him by the time he pulls me in for a kiss - one he keeps chaste and brief, and I pout at him the moment he leans away. Moonlight lines the edges of his eyes, his cheekbones, and the smirk he’s giving me. 

“Told you, you love the beach,” he says, and his arms drift below the water to circle my back and pull me tighter against him. If I weren’t already literally on fire, I’d be blushing at his accusation.

“Yeah, well I’m not the only one,” I roll my hips into his, grinning at the way he sucks in a breath, the way his eyes fly shut for a moment. To be fair, I have to bite my lip against a moan, because _fuck_ our cocks sliding together under the water feels amazing.

In the span of a second, Phil’s grip on me tightens, then he’s surging forward, capturing my lips, biting them himself, and I close my eyes and melt into him. For some reason, this is _way_ hotter than any shower sex or attempted bath sex - probably due to the fact we actually have _space_ \- and I’m grinding into him, knots coiling in my stomach before we’ve done much at all.

We fumble against each other, hot and wet and not making all that much effort because we’re both high on the idea of being out here in public, and it’s not long before both our hips are stuttering and neither of us can keep any kind of rhythm going; at the last moment, I reach between us, stroking us both together and tipping us over the edge.

Phil comes with low grunts, with his head buried in the crook of my neck and his hands dragging across my back. I end up biting at the skin at his shoulder, desperate for anything to stifle my moan as white hot pleasure shoots through me - surely, _surely_ someone will hear. They’d definitely hear if I didn’t make any effort to control myself. Once we’ve both finally come down, I circle my arms around Phil’s back in a loose loop and lean into him.

For what feels like an hour but is probably more like a minute or two, we both rest heavily against each other, trying to catch our breaths; then Phil’s lips find my skin, and I giggle as he kisses his way from my collarbones up my neck, until he can’t turn enough because I’m too content to really move my head from his shoulder.

His hand finds my chin, tilts it so he can kiss me properly - there’s no heat this time, just pure warmth, but it’s still more than intoxicating.

We stay for a while, swaying with the current and wrapped in each others’ arms, until I can’t keep my eyes open and I think I mumble something to Phil about going home.

“Will the hotel do for now?” His voice sounds soft and gentle and like everything I want in life. I nod into the crook of his neck, which earns me a chuckle, then he’s tugging me back toward the shore and I have to force my feet to move so I can stay beside him.

I wake right the fuck up when the cool ocean breeze hits my wet and _very naked_ skin, and I end up rushing back to our discarded clothes as quickly as I can manage. The fabric sticks to me in all the worst places, and I can feel all the sand that’ll still be showing up in six months when we’re back in our flat and I’ve washed this shirt for the fifteenth time.

“Good trip to the beach, then?” Phil’s voice behind me makes me turn, and he’s pulled me against him a moment later, until we’re nearly nose to nose. I can see the smug smile on his face.

“Oh shut it, Lester,” I poke him in the chest, but he doesn’t let me go, so I sigh and roll my eyes. One hand - the one he’s not currently using to trap me - reaches up, brushes a strand of damp hair from my forehead. It’s so gentle, so familiar, and the softness in his eyes kills my intended sardonic response before it leaves my throat. “Good trip,” I finally manage to agree, feeling warm and fuzzy and far too sentimental.

I peck his lips once, quickly, then grab his hand and pull him back toward the road, toward our hotel. Toward whatever amazing, unreal future we’ll have, whatever I might or might not see, whatever I don’t even care about seeing because I know I’ll be beside him the whole damn time. I offer him a bright smile over my shoulder.

“Let’s go home, Phil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I can't believe this started off as a lil one-shot from a prompt I saw on tumblr, thank y'all so so much for sticking with me and encouraging me, this was so much fun to write! I hope you all enjoyed, and I have only one thing to ask:
> 
> Because I never _technically_ specified, leave a comment (if you'd like) with the one word you think Phil said to Dan at the beginning to start this whole mess of a story
> 
> be creative  
>  ~~ruin the entire thing lmao~~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! If you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/post/173797669067/one-second-completed)


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